Ties and Knots
by kkolmakov
Summary: Just smut. Lemons and limes. Elements of Omegaverse. John Thorington (modern AU Thorin Oakenshield alias) and my usual OC, Wren. [They are perfect for each other. An Alpha and an Omega. But they are no animals. And that's why it's not that simple.] Graphic M. Graphic language. Trigger warning for Chapter 6. *ON HIATUS*
1. Seed of Doubt

**Author's Note:**

 **I find Omegaverse fascinating, and very, very stimulating. Here, I said it :) Kinky kkolmakov is kinky :)**

 **This is my first peek into the genre. It's not going to be particularly burdened with plot. It's mostly just smut :) It'll be consensual, yet... descriptive. It will feature John Thorington (modern AU Thorin Oakenshield alias, my usual protagonist) and my usual OC, Wren. If you've read my other stories, you know what to expect. The answer is... the unexpected! :)**

 **Also, as my research shows, the rules of the verse vary from author to author, so I will arrange it the way I want.**

 **Shall we begin? ;)**

 **Best,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

"Have you done it?" Thea plops in front of Wren with her tray, pudding dancing on her plate, and Wren freezes with a piece of lettuce between her teeth.

"Hello to you too, Thea," she finally mumbles, after swallowing. She's just had a double shift, she properly has no energy to fight off her best friend at the moment. That's probably why Thea has stalked her into the staff canteen. The gleam in Thea's eyes is extremely alarming.

"So, have you? You and your god of shag?" Thea pokes a slice of cucumber and pops it into her mouth. Wren groans and pretends to be engaged with her salad. "C'mon, Leary. You've dated your delicious hot piece of arse for six months, you two are stable, and you're bio com. What are you waiting for? Because I can clearly see you haven't popped that cherry yet. You don't look properly knotted."

Wren shushes her with a terrified hiss, and looks around. The only other person in the room is another doctor in training, but he has earphones on.

"Thea, we aren't talking about it!"

"Why?" Sincere misunderstanding is reflected on Thea's face. "We still have half an hour before the next shift."

"Thea, even just the simple... Beta shag isn't something I'm willing to discuss. Why do you think I'd go into details of my..." Wren once again looks at the bloke in the corner. His head's bobbing at the rhythm from his iPad. "Mating," Wren whispers, leaning over the table, and Thea gives out a silver laughter.

"Leary! It's not something to be ashamed of! You found your A! Enjoy!"

Wren's nose twitches, and she goes back to her salad.

"And I want to know details," Thea presses on. "I'll never find out, since I'd rather end myself in than putting this collar on, so I want to experience it vicariously."

Wren regrets not playing sickie this morning. The main problem with such talks with Thea is that the thought will linger.

* * *

"Are you alright?"

Wren twitches and lifts her eyes at the man sitting across the table from her. Gods, what a specimen! She tends to sort of forget how glorious he is, and then it hits her like a lorry.

"Wren?"

"Yes, yes, I am. Sorry. It's just… I'm tired," she evades, and gets up to put her plate in the sink.

They are in her flat, and the kitchen is tiny. She has to step over his long legs stretched in the middle, and he catches the fingers of her unoccupied hand.

"Wren..." The voice is low, velvet, and shivers go down her spine. Even if he weren't Alpha, he'd affect her no less. Although, what else would he be? It's basically written all over him. All over the six four of his height, broad chest, wide shoulders, and patrician profile. The expensive jumper and denim are screaming of the status, and the dark mane and lush beard signal excellent health and admirable genes. He's as A as they make them. "What is it?"

Wren gives it a thought, and places the plate on the nearest counter. She then climbs on his lap, which he seems to very happily welcome, and his long arms wrap around her. She buries her nose into his neck and gathers lungfuls of his smell.

"Is it the days?" he asks softly, and she snorts.

"No… They were a week ago. Don't you remember? I jumped you in a cab..." Just as they describe in romance novels - Wren's guilty pleasure - a warm chuckle rumbles in his chest. She's strategically placed a palm over the rock hard pectoral muscle to enjoy it.

"Oh right..." He carefully turns his head and kisses her temple. "Then what?"

"It's… I had this daft conversation… No, it's not it. I just keep on thinking about us..." She peeks, and meets his laughing blue eyes.

"Should I say 'uh-oh'?" he asks, one of his eyebrows angles whimsically, and she gives his chest a ridiculous tiny punch.

"It's just that we are..." She chews at her bottom lip.

"Yes?" he draws out, and she sits straighter. Maybe, it's easier to just say it.

"We are bio com." The problem of talking to him about such matters is exactly the fact that they are. Because when he tenses like this, and narrows his eyes, her O genes flare up and rebel - against her feminism, and her ambitions, and her gigantic intellect, and the fact that she is a future surgeon, and an independent woman, and then all she wants is to make him happy, and satisfied, and curl at his feet, and…

"Yes, we are," he agrees in a low voice.

 _Omegas are unlikely to show initiative, and breach the subject of mating, or intimacy, in general,_ Dr Andrew Steward stated in _Omega Biology and Physiology_ in 1956, but Wren reminds herself it's 2016.

"And we are in stable relationship… And..."

"And you would like to try," he states, not asking, and the eyebrow crawls up.

He's done it before, she remembers. He had two mates before her. It didn't work out, her gain, their loss, etcetera.

His face is reserved, unreadable, and everything inside demands her to change the topic. She's just offered an Alpha to mate. Even nowadays it's expected to at least be a veiled proposition. And if refused Omega isn't supposed to feel offended. Wren might.

He suddenly emits another chuckle.

"What did I expect from a doctor, after all..." he mutters, shaking his head good-naturedly, and she tenses.

"It has nothing to do with my profession!" she hisses and starts sliding off his lap. The circle of arms around her tightens. It makes her even more pissed off. "Let me go, please." Her tone is cold.

He theatrically opens his arms, basically impersonating Rio's Jesus now, and she climbs off and smoothes her shirt. She hasn't changed after work, because she was late, and he was already at her door. And she was starving.

Or maybe her damn O genes didn't let her leave him even for a second. She could've changed, and she really wanted a shower, after all the unmentionable stuff she touched and smelled and saw all day, and yet she quickly whisked them a salad while he was cutting bread, and they were eating ravioli she made yesterday, expecting him to come for dinner. Damn it.

She takes a few calming breaths. He finally put his hands down, on the table, and she stares at the back of his large hand. There's black hair on it, and she loves, loves, simply loves his hands. The fingers are long, and wrists are elegant and so very male. There's a silver ring with his family crest on the middle finger, the only decoration in all his no nonsense appearance.

"Wren, we should talk about it, if it bothers you..."

"It bothers me," she answers quickly, and then sits down on the only other chair in the kitchen. "We've talked about it. I have trouble accepting you being with me even without the whole biology thing..."

He makes a noise as if he's going to interrupt her.

"Please, let me finish." It's easier to talk if she's not looking at him. "We've talked about it, and I'm working on it, OK? My self-esteem isn't your responsibility, and… I'm starting to accept that you're with me, OK?" She looks up at him, and sees him frown. "It's not easy for an Omega on everyday basis, you know. And I'm mostly fine when I am at work, or uni, but with you… It's just the hormones, yeah?" She hates that she mumbles, and tangles in the words. She also hates that she wants him to reassure her. Because, just as her therapist always says, reassurance is like a drug. It only makes you addicted, without solving anything.

He isn't reassuring her. He's sitting calmly in her tiny kitchen, in her cheap flat. In his expensive clothes, in all his sexiness, and Alpha gloriousness. Damn it.

"Wren, there's no way to separate biology from what we have," he starts in a patient voice. She hates his patient voice. "You're an Omega, I'm an Alpha. You aren't taking suppressants, so I knew from the start. You went out with me, so I don't understand what bothers you now..."

"Why me?" she exclaims, and before he opens his mouth, she starts flailing her hands in the air. "No, no, don't answer it. It was daft!" She groans and rubs her face with her palms. "Give me a jiffy, yeah?"

She needs to gather her thoughts. She takes a deep breath in and goes through her usual mantra. _She is fit. She is a skinny ginger, with a fey face, and long pins. It's 2016. Since Twiggy her looks are a fad. She's smart, like properly smart. She has a high IQ, she is a future doctor. She reads a lot, she draws, she is her own person. A bloke falling for her is not a glitch in the Matrix. She has her career, her interests, her hobbies. She is a separate independent human being. He saw it all and asked her out. She ogled his arse and agreed. That is what it is. Hormones be damned._

She opens her eyes.

"I'm sorry..." There's sincere remorse in her tone. It's not his fault they aren't Betas who can just… date and stuff. Without the biology arsing up the whole thing. "I'm just tired..."

He nods, but she can see she hasn't convinced him. As any male - and he is as male as they come - he prefers to avoid all this emotional rubbish. At the moment it might be a good thing.

* * *

They have tea and talk about her day. Her damn Omega ears are catching the minuscule tension in his voice, and how he doesn't look at her as much as usual, and by the time they move onto her bumpy, old li-lo, she's jittery.

He then leans in for a kiss, and she rushed ahead. Among other things, Thea didn't call him "god of shag" for nothing. As little as Wren had shared with her best friend, she just couldn't help but tell Thea of the five times in a row, and her orgasming for the first time in her life.

She decides to silence the thoughts buzzing in her thick, thick head by gobbling him up. She as much as lunges at him, straddles him, and pushed her hands into his hair. It's long, and there's no pony tail today. The heavy silky locks run between her digits, and she grinds her pelvis to him.

And then he carefully moves her away - not off his lap, but still pretty decisively - and attentively looks into her eyes. The O genes tell her to whimper and ask what she did wrong. the next step is Wren feeling irritated.

"Wren, are you actually in the mood, or that's you?.." he trails away.

"Me what?" she asks in an unpleasant tone. He sighs.

"Wren, if you need to talk, we can talk..."

"We don't. I just want to shag and forget about it, OK?" That's not her usual way of putting it. She is a bit of a prude, and besides - all biology aside - she's in love with him, and it's special, and she never said 'shag' before, and they do make love. It's never mindless. Although, it's never boring either.

He's studying her. The thing with the whole O and A matter is that he can actually make her talk. They've been together for six months. She's breathed in, swallowed, and eventually received into her vagina so much of his DNA that their initial biological compatibility has been sealed. He can softly but firmly ask, and she'd talk. She hates it.

"Wren, can you please just tell me what's wrong?"

Here we go. Wren grits her teeth. The words are bursting out of her, and she closes her eyes hoping to distance herself from him. His spicy fresh smell tickling her nose isn't helping.

She opens her mouth to confess she wants him to want her - to really want her - the 'm' word thrashing in her mind, when his long finger lies on her lips. Her eyes fly open.

"Wren..." There's a small warm smile on his lips. "I forgot you'd answer if I asked directly. You're so ballsy, I forget you're an Omega." Her jaw slacks. He's so Alpha that she sometimes forgets he is even human. "It'll be easier after we mate."

"And when would that be?" She's not fast enough to swallow this line. She then presses her lips, and flares her nostrils. She just could not keep her gob shut, could she?

"When you want it," he answers softly.

"Well, not tonight for sure," she bites again, and he nods, his hand now gently stroking her back between shoulder blades. Usually this makes her purr and curl into him. All she feels is irritation.

She slides off him, and sits in the corner of the sofa, pulling her knees to her chin.

"Wren, do you want to go to bed?"

She really isn't sure what she wants now. But definitely she will think better and breathe easier if he's not touching her.

"I… I'm very tired, and..." She doesn't know how to ask him to leave. She never has before. They would either make love for several hours and fall asleep on whatever surface they ended up. Or they would plod to his or her bathroom, brush teeth, and then sleep intertwined. They are very compatible.

"It's OK. I'll go then." He gets up, and she isn't looking at him. "I'll be back on Tuesday. Give me a ring?" His tone is perfectly polite and friendly, and she hums in agreement.

He has a small but very successful air charter company. Lots of travelling, lots of money. Lots of time she's left alone. No, not alone. She is fine on her own, damn it.

He leans in and kisses her cheek.

"Night, Wren."

"Night."

She hears him softly close the door after himself, and only then she starts sobbing. She congratulates herself on wise life choices. Were she his mate, she wouldn't be able to wait till he was gone. To think of it, were she his mate, this wouldn't have happened. She'd apologise and gladly spread her legs for him, she venomously thinks between hiccups and sobs.

It's not true, of course, and she knows that. After mating she'd be only more independent, her self-esteem would improve. It's simple biology. An Omega in successful relationship with a strong Alpha has 47% improvement in quality of life. After initial adaptation period, the stats are even higher. Wren hates the stats.

* * *

On Tuesday she has a cowardly - or spiteful - thought of not ringing him. Then she decides it's daft and childish, and dials him. He doesn't pick up, and she leaves him a cheery - and fake - voicemail.

It's past eleven, and she should be sleeping because she has additional hours in the morning, but instead she's drinking her third cuppa, and pretends she's not glaring at her mobile.

She's so tired after six months of trying to determine whether she craves him because he's just amazing, and lush, and sexy, and everything a chick can dream of, and it's her submissive O nature, that she decides just to mope and wallow in her misery.

Maybe he found a better Omega while in Montreal. That's her most common masochistic fantasy. The chick is tall, has amazing tits, and hips, dark wavy hair scattered on her shoulders, because that's the type of women he dated before her. And she gives ace head. Alright, Wren isn't that bad herself. Actually, she is wicked, and can come from it! Even her inner voice sounds defensive, and she drops her head on the table with a loud thud.

OK, where was she? Right, the other chick. She is Omega but not a feminist. She accepts her role, and is sensual and - unlike some ugly gingers - wears skirts and heels and stockings. She has some more feminine - Wren feels like throwing up - profession, and doesn't spend ninety something hours a week in the hospital. And she doesn't look like shite most of the evenings, with purple shadows under her eyes, and tangled hair. And she doesn't go into a benny because he hasn't yet offered her to mate. She is beautiful, complacent, and he will suggest it himself, very soon, and she will cook dinner and wait for him in a silk peignoir, just like Omegas girls were advised to do in 1967's _A Guide For Smart Omega Girls: Manners (Revised Edition)._

Her mobile rings, and she chokes on her cold Earl Grey.

"Hi..." she squeaks.

"Hey." He sounds tense. Her spine turns into a metal rod. "I'm… not far from your place. Are you up for a cuppa together? I'll just stop by for a wee bit..."

"Sure."

Her mind does its cursed exercise where it tries to determine whether it was the Omega Wren, or Wren Leary, future surgeon who agreed. She can't stand it.

She opens the door for him. He's his usual mind-blowing sexy self, and she remembers that she washed her hair and tied it into a bun that looks like something her Nana's cat would cough out. She invites him and rushes to the bathroom.

The hair sticks out like barmy orange springs as soon as she takes the elastic off. She is also additionally pale, more than her usual pasty colour, because she hasn't slept properly since they saw each other last; and there is a hole in her pyjama top. It's one of those tiny inexplicable ones, just the wearing out of the fabric. It's on her right clavicle. Her Nana used to tell little Wren that it's laundry mice, the special kind, that lived behind the box with soap. Wren always tried to sneak up on the laundry mice, but they always managed to escape.

Why is she thinking about it now?

Since there's no hope to improve her looks, she ties the hair back, and plods to the kitchen.

He's started the kettle, and is looking for his mug in the cupboard. He has his own mug; she gave it to him. It says: _Q: What's the difference between a pilot and God? A: God doesn't think He's a pilot._

Muscles on his back are moving under the thin cashmere jumper, he is stretching his hand into the shelf, and she steps ahead, and presses her forehead between his shoulder blades, her arms wrapping around his waist.

"I missed you..." She has no strength left to figure out which Wren just said it. They all missed him.

He covers her hands with his, and she feels warm and safe. Damn the biology. Who cares…

"I missed you too, little one."

When he said it for the first time, she got offended. He swore it was about her size, and not patronising at all. Since he explained it to her while his fingers were moving inside her, and he was kissing her stomach, and murmuring that by 'little' he habitually means 'tight,' she agreed it was an acceptable term of endearment.

She nuzzles his back, breathing in the fragrance of the skin, and the familiar cologne, and the smell of the Summer rain that is pitter-pattering on her window.

"I want to go to bed..." Her tone isn't suggestive. Nor it is needy. She just needs it.

He starts walking to the bedroom, she's following, without changing their position, and she can't see, her eyes are closed, and her face is pressed into him, but she knows she won't fall.

 _ **To be continued...**_


	2. Plunge

**Author's Note:**

 **I found the main principles of Omegaverse best summarized on fanlore dot org slash wiki slash alpha/beta/omega.**

 **In the next chapters I will try to explain the rules I set up for this universe, so I hope it becomes clear pretty soon. If not, feel free to ask for clarification :)**

 **Love,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

The pre-heat hits her in the middle of a normal work day a week later. She's toiling in a lab, and at first she thinks it's just the fan is off, and she squirms on the chair, when she realises that her cheeks are burning, and there is this pulling sensation at the bottom of her stomach. It's too early. She quickly grabs her mobile, and checks the app. It's eight days too early. Her cycle is usually stable, by the book - five days of heat, every three months, instead of normal period.

She quickly grabs her belongings. A pen rolls under the table, and she rushes after it. The lab assistant lifts his eyes. He's safe, he's Beta. He can't sense anything. She excuses herself and hurriedly leaves the room.

She needs to get a cab. She runs through empty halls of the research center, dialing the Med Office. As an active Omega she's entitled up to ten days of leave every three months.

In her handbag she has a mini jet injector. It's full of the suppressant, enough for two hours. She can doze herself now, and get home safely. The hormonal levels will drop, and she will seem like a Beta - a normal human - to any Alpha around her. On the other hand, she'll have to deal with side effects. She's not normally taking the sups. Cue nausea, vomiting, vertigo, possible rash.

When she was 15 she had her first heat. She was a late bloomer, just like with her period. She's skinny, and generally the women in her family are rather low on the hormone chart. She's the only Omega in the last five generations. There were two Alphas, including her Nana. Becoming an active Omega in the same household with her was a torture. Wren moved out as soon as possible.

At the age of 18 she made a decision that she wouldn't take suppressants. She has nothing to be ashamed of. And she always thought that Alphas should just learn to keep it in their pants. She's not property, not cattle to brand. After all, these days Omegas have the same civil rights as Alphas and Betas. Sniffing her out in the crowd is their business, she just doesn't want to know about it. And she breaks no rules - when in heat, she's always very careful. She takes two days off before the beginning, and stays an extra one at home after. She's never had any incidents. Unlike, say, Thea, who always manages to run into an active Alpha while she's in heat. Technically, mating without explicit sober consent is considered rape since the 1987 Bill of Omega Rights. Thea has never filed any claims, but Wren isn't sure she wants to know how Thea spends her heats. Wren supports sex and heat positivity, by the way. It's just she prefers her quiet, prudent ways.

* * *

This time is all botched up. She knows the reason, and hates it. She's in stable relationships with an Alpha. And there's lots of shag. Obscene amounts of it. So her O genes have just rebelled, and are demanding a mate.

Her forehead is sweaty, hands are shaking. That's the normal symptoms of 8 hours prior to heat. It's too early, she keeps on repeating in her head. Joints are as if twisted, and she as much as tumbles down the stairs, no time to wait for a lift.

In the hall of the institute she runs into a group of her classmates in Starbucks. One of them waves to her, he's an active Omega too.

Hostility rises in her, the whiny, passive hostility of an Omega. He isn't a competition, not only because he's male. By the way, his kind is extremely rare. Out of all gay and bi men in the world only 4% are Omegas. But that's not the reason. There's no such thing as Omega competitiveness. Biologically, their hormones dictate that that's them who are being picked, they have no say in the choice of the partner.

Wren shakes her head, trying to chase the O thoughts out. She quickly checks her phone. Even with the barmy processes in her body, she can still make some predictions. She needs to be home in twenty minutes, lock the door, and curl in a ball. Or doze herself in the cab.

She is only in pre-heat, but she is already jittery and paranoid. The driver is a Beta, but even if he were an Alpha, he probably wouldn't have caught her smell yet. And still, she squeezes herself into a corner of the seat, and grits her teeth. Every cell in her body is screaming that she has to preserve the said body for an Alpha mating, and since there is an Alpha in her life, her biology makes her set on not letting anyone else touch her. Even without him having branded her.

She makes it to her flat in 22 minutes. By then she's sure this one will be her hardest so far. She jerks the lock, throws her handbag aside, and starts pulling her clothes off.

* * *

A warm shower helps. She's sitting on the bottom of her tub, letting it drum on her head. Breathing is difficult. Moving is difficult. Her body feels heavy, swollen, almost aching. It's not. Pain will come later.

After her fingers prune up, she drags herself out of the bathroom, and grabs a bottle of orange juice from the fridge. She hates orange juice, but it's rich in potassium. Heat burns it out in a human body.

She plods to the bedroom, crawls under her blanket, and closes her eyes. The juice, her mobile with the app running, and the box of the toys are on her bedside table.

She manages to nod off, but soon the mobile beeps. She enters the symptoms into the app, and downs half a glass of the juice. She'll also need all the folate it can give her.

She is now feeling this first wave of languished, ticklish desire. She's had enough heats by now to know that to satisfy this first urge is to set the chain reaction of insatiability. She needs to last as long as possible before she does anything.

Sleeping is out of the question already, and she decides to read on her phone. It's a mistake. She's settled down on her pillow, and her nose catches the fragrance of John's shampoo and cologne. She swears loudly. She hasn't changed the sheets since he stayed over three days ago. Her oversensitive Omega nose twitches, seeking more of the delicious aroma.

Wren groans. The whiff was enough. The reaction starts, and her mind supplies her with the image of him sleeping on that very pillow. And immediately of him, on his back, hair scattered on the pillow, while she's straddling him, riding him hard and rough, just like the last time he stayed over.

Wren rolls on her stomach and bites into the pillow. She's swollen, wet already, from just the smell of his skin on the fabric. She stretches her arm, but instead of the first dildo she still has enough will to grab her phone. She clumsily slides her finger over screen, and after three attempts she manages to turn on the app's audio file.

" _Wren, it is alright. Everything you go through is completely natural. You are a young female person, with Omega genome. You are one of the 25.4% population of the planet, and your biology demands you to mate with an Alpha marked human with the intention of insemination. The rising levels of a substantial group of hormones in your body affect your nervous system and cause psychosomatic symptoms, consistent with normal human arousal, with certain deviations."_ This is the voice of her therapist. Wren paid extra six hundred quid for the personalised app. _"You are at stage one. Your body is beginning to feel the need to copulate. The hormonal levels at the moment..."_

The tape continues droning, and Wren concentrates on the science. Science is good. Science helps. It reminds her why she doesn't take suppressants. She isn't ashamed of what she is. She is an Omega, she is a woman, and yet she isn't artsy, or pretty, or sensual. She is a future surgeon, she's a tomboy, she is… Her thoughts jumble. She once again brings her mind down onto the voice.

" _At stage two the discomfort can be alleviated by use of GMC approved sex toys. Stage two ends with the appearance of violence thoughts. As soon as the desire to be spanked, choked, or copulated with sensation of pain added to the experience starts prevailing in your fantasies, please press button with digit three."_

Wren sits up and pulls her knees to her nose. So far, so good. All she wants is for him to stick his cock into her. The leftover sanity shies away from such crude thoughts. And then she reconsiders her previous thought. John, she has thought of John. Not a vague, undetermined male Alpha, which would be typical at the early stages of heat. She can almost imagine the sensation of his thick head stretching her entrance, and that moment when she feels the ridge snatch at her convulsing ring of muscles.

Wren rolls out of the bed, grabs the bottle and the phone, and moves to the parlour. She can't change the sheets in this state, so she should just stay on the li-lo.

The first contraction comes. It's mild for now, just a demanding squeeze. She always thinks that it feels as if her fanny checks if there's anything inside. Wren is taking measured breaths in. She can do it. She can last longer. Her knickers are wet. She should go change, but she gives herself a few more minutes.

And then her mobile shrills with the sound of Tardis. She tells herself to leave the bloody phone where it is. It's John's ringtone.

It continues, shuts up, and then starts again. She tells herself not to touch it, and yet she slides her finger across the screen.

"Yes?" She is raspy, and sounds half dead.

"Wren, are you OK?" His voice as much as assaults her. Her vagina convulses, and she groans. And then she realises that he sounds agitated, and she rushes to answer.

"Yes, yes, I'm OK..."

"We were meeting for lunch today. Have you forgotten?" He's also slightly irked, and she whimpers.

She can lie now. She can tell him she's sick, and he might come. She imagines him entering her flat, and her mouth waters. She can already be naked, wait for him on the floor of the hall...

She pinches her thigh. Pain brings a bit of clarity.

"I'm sorry, I got… engaged… we will have to..." She can't remember the word. All she can think of is his hands on her skin. Or knuckles down in her. "Reschedule..."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Last time she was in heat they were already dating. She managed to avoid discussing it. He was away in Tokyo. She went through her usual five days of nonstop masturbation. She thought of him, of course, but sort of the same way as she thought of Tom Hiddleston. They did start sleeping together by then, but it was new, and she was nervous, and they were still using condoms then.

"I am..." She wants to scream to him she's in heat and she wants him to take her from behind, just like he did when they woke up together last time. She wants him to grab her arse, sink his fingers into her buttocks, and fuck her so hard that she could see her hair flailing in front of her eyes.

"Alright… I am alright. Just maybe under weather..." She is Wren Leary, a medical specialist, and an independent woman, she repeats to herself. And then as much as starts mumbling her usual mantra. The biology is no boss of her.

"Wren, are you… in heat?" he asks, his voice low, and she moans.

She can't lie to him. Even though he isn't technically her Alpha. They haven't mated yet. The thought makes tears roll onto her eyes. He hasn't offered. He hasn't asked her to be his mate. But she is his, all his. And she needs him.

"Yes.. I am… it's bad… It'll be so painful..." she whines. Her hands are shaking, and she realises that the li-lo's upholstery is moist under her.

There's a pause. She bit into her lip so hard she can taste blood.

"Do you want me to come?" he asks carefully, and she groans. She wants to thank him, again and again, but all she can do is hum in agreement.

"Wren, you need to be sure. At what stage are you? I need to make sure you can still make decisions..."

"Stage one. I… I'm managing it, and yes, please, come..." She's begging, and she can just imagine the crinkle between his eyebrows. "If you want of course..." That was a bad line. It shows how much she's set on meeting his needs. She should have said something like 'it would be a good idea' or 'it would make it easier for me.' She should have pretended she has desires of her own.

She wants to rush and reassure him that she is very much sane, and that was indeed consent, but she's still sober enough to understand that if she starts talking, that will be the clearest indication that she can't make the decision anymore.

"I'll be at your place in fifteen minutes..."

His tone is grave. Wren hangs up because she doesn't trust herself not to start talking.

* * *

And then she rushes to the bathroom. She wants to take a shower, to style her hair, to shave her legs, to change, to find pretty sexy red lacy underwear… and then she grabs her mobile, hits the button, and sinks on the cold tile floor.

" _The best test of your current condition is the so-called 'recorded diary entry.' Choose a day, as ordinary as possible, and record your actions. Remember, the smallest details might be most crucial. Compare your current urges and inclinations with that day. Do they coincide? Does your current urge go against what seems natural to you on everyday basis? It might include substance abuse, promiscuity, risk behaviours. It can be as small as changing your looks, and as grave as renewing your relationship with previously abusive partner."_

Wren takes a deep breath in. She has already taken a shower, she's dressed in a tee and pyjama bottoms. That's her normal clothes at home. She's OK, she's OK. She shaved her legs yesterday. These are all sane thoughts, she can still see it.

She then brushes her teeth and decides that it's as much grooming as she should do. She reminds herself of the story of an Omega who plucked their eyebrows in the ten minutes before their Alpha came over.

The buzzer goes off, and she slowly approaches it. She's shaking. Somewhere at the back of her mind she still remembers that that's the first time he'll see her in heat - and there are big visible changes in an Omega in this state - and that they haven't discussed the mating question, and also that she's never taken any suppressants in her life. Which means her hormones are off the chart. He's an active Alpha. He might come in, smell her, and then fuck her without taking his jacket off. Somehow it doesn't seem like an unfavourable option, and she opens the door for him.

He enters, and she drops her eyes to the floor, like a good submissive Omega should. She's also holding her breath. She's just realised if she smells him she'll drop on her knees in front of him.

She then feels his hand on her shoulder, and he roughly pushes her into the wall. Her shoulder blades hit it painfully, and she gasps. His eyes are in front of hers now, and she realises he's picked up her chin with his index finger.

"How are you, Wren? Which stage?" His tone is authoritative, and every cell in her body reacts to it.

The wave of desire and submission goes through her body, and her hand twitched. She wants to touch him - she's never wanted anything in her life as much as to feel his scorching, tanned skin under her fingers - but she is an Omega. She doesn't dare.

"I think it's stage two already. I'm ready… For penetration..." Medical terms habitually fall of her lips, and he sucks a breath in. His chest moves, and she has to squeeze her knees.

"Wren, look at me."

She reacts to the command in less than a second. She doesn't even dare to blink.

"Wren, I will help you now. I will make you come, so you can think clearer, and we can talk about it. But you still need to consent to it." His tone is firm, and then his lips twist. She has some sort of tunnel vision at the moment. All she can see is the black whiskers above his upper lip. She wants to trace the pink with the tip of her tongue and feel the scratching.

"What are you thinking of, Wren? Tell me. I need to know how far gone you are..."

"I want to lick your lips…" she whispers, and her cheekbones burn, the red spreading down her cheeks, and onto her neck.

"At least nothing more graphic… So, technically you still can consent. Do you want me to touch you?"

"Please..." she breathes out, not meeting his eyes.

Still holding her to the wall with one hand, he shakes off his light jacket, switching hands, and then his right hand lies on the waist of her bottoms. He hooks the index finger to it, and pants as well, and pushes them down. She moans loudly. She's always loud during shag. A panicked thought comes that he might not like it, and she whimpers.

And then he cups her between legs, and his middle finger sinks into her. She's so swollen she doesn't feel it right away, and he adds another finger, and pumps them up. She wails, and immediately comes. The first one is usually the fastest.

And the shortest. She whines three seconds later, because she wants more.

"God, it's never enough for you..." he rasps out, and starts moving his fingers again, rubbing just the right spot inside her. She drops her head back, and meets each of his movements with a raspy exhale. This one takes only seven seconds, and her muscles greedily constrict around his fingers.

She starts slumping along the wall, and he's not supporting her.

"Wren, I can't touch you… I shouldn't..." He sounds distressed, and she tries to look at him - she needs to reassure him - but she's a ragdoll. Her naked bum hits the cold floor.

"You should go to the shower, Wren. Call me when you can talk…."

She's still burning. But the minuscule of sanity that he gave her makes her more compliant. She gets up, swaying, and goes to the bathroom. She starts the water, steps under it, and only then realises she hasn't taken any of her clothes off.

So, it's stage two then.

* * *

There's a knock at her door.

"Wren, are you OK?" His voice is tense. She suppresses the first urge - to invite him in, climb out, and hope he'd let her unzip his jeans.

"Yes… I can talk now..."

He steps into the bathroom, a gush of cold air licks her oversensitive skin. He can't see her behind the curtain. She can only see the silhouette. The wide shoulders, the long arms, the broad chest. She presses her back to the wall, hoping its burning coolness to relieve the buzzing in her body.

"Are you angry? Or embarrassed?" he asks, and the question sobers her up. She's forgotten she has the right to be angry, or embarrassed, for that matter. She carefully steps ahead and peeks at him from around the curtain.

"How… how are you so calm?" And then she's immediately terrified that he'll just say she doesn't attract him.

"I took a shot in the cab. It'll wear off in..." He looks at his Patek. "An hour and seven minutes."

"Why?" She knows she looks pathetic, and she feels her throat constrict, and her lips shake. He took a shot when coming to her…

"Wren, I'd rape you for several hours straight without moving into your flat if I didn't."

She wants to scream that it isn't rape if she asks for it, but this phrase is exactly what shakes her out of her haze. The 'she was asking for it...' Because she wasn't. She is what she is, but her being Omega is not consent.

"Can you please leave?" she asks, and hurriedly adds, "The bathroom… Not completely! Just go to another room, please..."

He quickly leaves, the door bangs behind him. She turns off the hot tap. In five seconds everything hurts, and her teeth are chattering, but she's much saner. She wraps into her robe and steps out.

His jacket is now on a hanger, and she can hear him move in the kitchen.

"We should have tea… but not in the parlour… I can smell you there... " Right, she leaked on the li-lo.

She hesitantly enters the kitchen, small sideways steps, her arms wrapped around her middle. The kettle is boiling, and he's gotten their mugs from the cupboard.

"Wren, if you have a jet, I say you give yourself a doze, and we talk before mine wears off."

 _ **To be continued...**_


	3. Stock and Lock

**Dear Just4Me, I haven't read enough Omegaverse stories to be certain whether consent is a recurring issue in them. I have read several very well written Omegaverse fics in Sherlock fandom, and there, since the protagonists were Sherlock and Molly Hooper, the consent was clear - Molly is in love with Sherlock on any level. But I feel it should be paid extra attention in any discussion of sexuality and relationship. And I think it has to be verbally expressed, sober, and unadulterated, even when operating in the verse where intimacy is animalistic and regulated by hormones. **

**I know (as a reader has just messaged me) that I managed to turn a kink fic into a feminist manifesto, but I guess I just can't write a smut without climbing on my soap box. I'll take this critisism, and will nonetheless continue... my way *Frank Sinatra voice***

 **Best,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

The next wave of heat is rising, and the urge to ensure mating overpowers Wren.

"I can't take a sup," she mumbles. "I've never done it, I… I will be sick… Please..." She cringes from the begging tone of her last word.

He stops with a kettle hovering above her mug.

"You've never taken any sups?" His tone is disbelieving. An old rebelliousness weakly stirs in her. Does he actually think she'd lie now, in this state?! "How did you survive previous heats?"

"The usual way, you know..." she's still muttering, and her cheeks start burning.

It's days and days of masturbation, until the sheets are soaked with her sweat and her juices, and until everything hurts, and her voice is raspy from moaning. The usual way is a torture.

He's studying her, and she wants to cry. She's vulnerable right now, she wants come closer, touch him, breathe him in, have his taste on her tongue. But not only she can't make the first step as an Omega, she's also taken aback by his cold, reserved face, attentive eyes, and lips pressed together in a stern line. She also now realises he smells different. It's the suppressant in his blood.

He turns away, pours tea, and points at her chair. She clumsily tucks herself in. He's still not looking at her.

"Wren, I know you might get side effects from a sup, but I'm not staying if you don't take it." His tone is grave, and she feels as if he just kicked her into defenceless soft stomach. Her breathing stammers, and she starts shaking. He doesn't want her, he doesn't want her, this is the only thought thrashing in her mind. He's going to leave her now. She's a failure, ugly, useless, undesirable… Nausea rises, and she makes a small pained noise. He looks up at her. His face seems almost cruel.

"Wren, you have a jet. You're prescribed one by the law. Where is it?" Don't tell him, don't tell him.

"It's in my handbag..." Her hand points at the parlour without her will. "Please, don't make me… Please… John..." It doesn't even sound like her voice.

His face suddenly wavers, and he steps to her, and picks her up under her arms. He jerks her out of the chair and into him. She cries out, from the agony of pleasure bursting and slamming through her body.

She's hanging like a kitten in his arms, and he is pressing her so tightly, that she can't breathe in.

"I just can't..." His voice is raspy. "God, I can't… I need you to be sane, Wren. I shouldn't have come."

He is ready to let her go, she feels it, and she grabs him around his neck, and scampers, and wraps her legs around his waist.

"Please, don't leave, please..." She's sobbing now, tears already spilling. "I'll do anything you want, please… Anything... I'll take it!"

She's ready to run to the bag, and spray those chemicals into her bloodstream, but the robe fell open, and the insides of her thighs scrape at his belt, and she can feel cashmere of his jumper, and she moans, and shifts, rubbing herself to him. Just one stroke, up, she won't even rub more, she knows she's sneaking it without permission, and she is a bad, bad Omega, but the fabric strokes her clit, and she comes, with a loud groan.

Some clarity returns, and she expects him to throw her on the floor, in disgust, and she feels repentful, and she starts crying harder, and he is walking somewhere, and she wants to press her face into his shoulder, but she's punishing herself, and no bliss for Wren Leary!

He slowly lowers her, sitting down on the floor, and one of his arms lets her go, and from the corner of her blurry eyes she can see him rummage through the handbag. She whimpers. She doesn't even know what it'll do to her, but she doesn't want it! She's all his. How can't he see it? She likes it like that! She wants it like that! No mind, no will, just raw desire to be his and to give herself, until nothing is left…

"Wren..." he speaks softly, and the hand that is still on her strokes her back softly. "Wren, I love you. Do you hear me? I love you, and I want you, and you're all mine."

She gasps and moves away. She still can't see him, her mind is fogged, and there are the tears, and she blinks frantically, trying to figure it out. Has she heard right?

"Wren, I know you feel all confused right now. But you can still think, love. C'mon. It's your body. Do you want a suppressant? I'll stay." He's moving the hair stuck to her sweaty forehead and wet cheeks, and wipes the tears. "I can stay for a bit. I can't take more, it was a double strength one, but I can stay while you take it. Or I can go." She jerks. "Wren, maybe you should take a sup, and I will go. You will be OK to let me go then. I shouldn't have come," he repeats, and there's so much regret in his tone. "I disrupted it..."

He's now stroking her hair, at the back of her head, and she feels his distress, and his remorse, and she moves away and finally meets his eyes. For a second the fever and the painful desire step back, and she tilts her head, studying his eyes. They are open and vulnerable now, he lets her see, and she remembers he is just a man, and she loves him, and - maybe - he loves her just a little bit in return. Like a man, not like an Alpha…

"I don't know what to do… I need… I need to think… Why did you come?" she asks suddenly, and his lips twist.

"I missed you, and I heard it in your voice. I wasn't thinking. Just took a cab. Good thing I had a sup in my bag."

She starts crying quietly, from the relief, and maybe she's reading too much into his words, but she thinks she'll allow herself to believe that his self control around her wavers as well.

"Wrennie..."

"I'll take the sup." She nods too, trying to show him it is indeed consent, and she takes the jet out of his palm. He covers her hand with his sharply.

"Are you sure?" She nods. "Wren… It'll make you very sick. Do you want me to call a nurse?"

"We'll see. Maybe..." She isn't sure about anything. But he's near, and somewhere at the back of her mind she remembers that she wanted to address this long before, and since he's already in her flat, and he's already seen what a mess she is…

She hardly feels the pain of the injection. The jet falls on the floor with a little clank, and he rubs her thigh - there is a little red circle - with his hot palm.

Six seconds till the suppressants hit the central nervous system. She had Omega biology and chemistry at uni. Her specialisation - to her instructors' surprise - is Beta surgery, but she knows enough. She prefers to be informed. Five, four, three… Deep breath… One…

* * *

She opens her eyes. The first thing she notices that all her senses are dull - almost no smelling, hearing is on Beta level, but the vision has cleared out. And then she realises her robe is open, and she is as much as starkers on his lap, on the dirty floor of her parlour, his wet footprints still on the floorboards. She hastily pulls the halves of the robe and wraps in it tightly. And then she meets his eyes.

"How are you?" His tone is cautious.

"So far, so good…" She cringes - there's a bit of strange heaviness in the neck, just underneath the hairline, and it seems to be intensifying. She has migraines, it feels like the aura.

"OK, tea then?" he asks, and she nods.

She starts rising heavily, pressing her hand into his shoulder, and then her legs give in, and she falls on the floor in a heap of limbs, and vomit rushes out of her, all the orange juice, and the scones she had for breakfast, ages ago in the lab.

Heave after another wrack her body, and the pain blooms in her head, white and blinding, and she moans, and quakes.

His arms are around her, and he is carrying her somewhere. And then she's in her bathroom, her arms tightly wrapped around her middle, because now there are cramps too, and he's washing her face, and then water is running into the tub, and there're her favourite lilacs scented bubbles, and he pulls off the robe. Her arms are so rigid, he has to softly pry them off her stomach, and he's talking softly, and she's in water now.

It's bit easier, and then his fingers are massaging her temples, and she exhales, and can open her eyes just a tad to look at him.

His jaws are clenched, and eyes are dark, and even without O genes pushing her to blame herself, she feels apprehensive. It's all her fault.

"I'm sorry..." she whispers.

"You have nothing to apologise for. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have come," he's snarling through his teeth. Even with a shot and in his civilised state, he's very animalistic, very Alpha.

"I wanted you to… Not even now… Before… Remember a week ago?.."

He lets her go and moves somewhere in the bathroom. She rubs her face and has a look.

He's getting her loofah from the shelf. He's turned his back to her, and she knows he's hiding his face. Even with the numbing effect of the sup, she knows him too well. He makes a frustrated noise.

"John, I wanted to talk about us mating then, and we had a row..."

"I know," he interrupts her sharply, and he's now leaning on the counter. She's watching his tense back. "Wren, I should've waited till you were done this month, and we should have talked. I just didn't realised you had never done it before…"

"What?" She pulls her knees to her chin. His fingers curl in a fist on the counter.

"I thought you'd done it before. But if you take no sups, and the way you behave now… I was an idiot." He chuckles, a dead, joyless sound. "I thought I'd come, and we happily shag, and I'd knot you, and we would live happily ever after. Fucking moron..."

She's frowning in confusion. What is he all about?

He turns, and his teeth are bared, and the face is dark, and she curls into an even tighter ball, almost scared.

"I gather it you don't take contraceptives either?" His look is heavy, and she shakes her head.

"I have them, they are prescribed in a kit..." She mutters, and he scoffs again.

"Of course they are." He crosses his arms on his chest, in a defensive gesture, shielding himself from her. "I heard your voice on the phone, and it was just poor instinct after that… And my first thought was… I'd come and finally get everything I wanted from you. You'd stop fighting me, like you do when you're sober. It was biological. You'd submit, I'd mark you, knot you, and… But you were still fighting. Have you ever seen an Omega in heat, Wren?"

"I saw my friend Thea… Once..." she answers in a small voice.

"You Omegas are so beautiful in heat. All soft, and relaxed, and… warm. Red lips, dilated pupils… So very willing, hungry, giving… But not you, Wren. You're still bloody prickly. You didn't touch me, we haven't even kissed once..." He shakes his head, and Wren bites into her bottom lip not to start crying. She's a failure.

"That's why I asked you out then, when I first saw you... That fight in you. And I… I just can't believe that I forgot how much I love it. I was in that cab, like an animal, as much as drooling in anticipation, imagining how you'll be whimpering on the floor, and begging me to fuck you. And then I took the sup, and..." He jerks his shoulder in the derisive gesture. "I shouldn't have come, and I apologise. I should have let you do it your way. I should have shoved my fucking Alpha ego up my arse."

She's staring at him. The nausea and the headache are still very strong, but she pushes herself to think. She needs to understand him.

"Were you going to come... and save me?"

"After the shot, yeah. But I also knew it'd wear off, and the hunger would be back, and by then you would have nowhere to run. You'd also think you didn't want to run, right?" He's sneering through gritted teeth, hatred splashing in his eyes. Not her, it's not directed at her, she understand in astonishment. He's berating himself!

"I never want to run from you..." She answers, and he jerks his chin again. "John, it's not about biology... And it is…" She tangles in her words again, and rubs her neck at the back trying to gain some coherence. "It's all intertwined, and complicated, and scary… But we can figure it out together..."

He's frowning, and his face is still disdainful, but at least he's listening, and not dismissing her words as Omega talk.

"You're right. You want me because you're an Alpha, and I want to submit. But we also..." The word 'love' gets stuck in her throat. "Want each other for other reasons. And even with sups, I still..." She looks at him. "Even now, although it's like a drill into my brain, and I think I'll vomit again, you are still delicious."

He's still brooding, but then his eyes widen, and he gawks at her, and she giggles.

"Where's your sense of humour, Thorington?" she asks, her voice still shaky.

"It's chemically suppressed?" he offers an unsure joke back, and she smiles to him.

"Do you take them often? Because, I mean, why would anyone? That's just shite." She shifts on the bottom of the tub, trying to find a more comfortable position.

"Less since I'm with you. I used to take them twice a month. There was just too much appetite, and it was a distraction. With you, I almost never do. I'm… almost satisfied..."

She suddenly notices she's naked in a bath, and there are just a few feet between them.

"Don't do it," he speaks in a low voice.

"Don't do what?"

"Don't think of shag. And don't lick your lips. Even with the sups you're still delicious." He throws her line back, but his is less of a joke. She remembers how fond he is of licking her. And then the memory of the sensation of his hot tongue tracing her inner thigh comes back, and she presses her knees together.

"Why am I still randy?" she asks in frustration, and he turns on the water in the sink. He's standing watching it run.

"John?"

"Give me a jiffy." There's almost a menace in his voice, and she stills. "You're a doctor, Wren. You know sups don't turn off your libido. Just suppress Alpha and Omega hormones. And in my case, that's a drop in the ocean."

He exhales sharply and checks his watch.

"Wren, I have twenty minutes. We need to decide what to do."

"What do you want to do?"

He turns and gives her a sarcastic look from under an hiked up eyebrow. She clumsily clears her throat.

"I think the best thing to do is for me to leave," he starts, and she opens her mouth to argue. He lifts his hand, halting her, and she's glad to notice that the gesture pissess her off. She's not a child to be shushed! "I have twenty minutes, I can still get home, or to the nearest clinic. I can't take any more sups, but they can give me some sedatives. You have an hour and a half. If I stay, I won't listen to your reasonable arguments why I shouldn't knot you. Not you… I might have had more control with others, but not you..."

"There were two before me, right?" she asks, and he growls. The sound sends a shudder through her body.

"Fuck it, Wren. I have eighteen minutes, and you want to talk exes?"

"I'm trying to understand..."

"Wren, I will hurt you." She winces to the wall from the sheer rage in his tone. "Once the sup is done, I'll drag you out of the tub, and after several hours of treating your body like a piece of meat, after you're covered in bruises and scratches, I will sink my teeth at the back of your neck, saliva mixing with your blood, making you mine forever. And you'll get pregnant too, I'll make sure of it. So fuck you, Wren, we're not talking exes at the moment! We're deciding which one of us is leaving this flat, and goes where."

"You won't hurt me..." Her voice is weak, but she's sober. She's Wren Leary, the medical professional - well, in a few months - she knows he's just trying to frighten her. In some perverted way it's his way of protecting her. That is him being in love with her.

"I will, because you will fight me. At least for the next hour and a half."

"Alpha and Omega mating is a loving, beautiful thing..." She continues arguing, more and more willfulness waking up in her.

It's a terrifying reverse process, she realises. Her body is slowly adapting, processing the chemicals; his control is slipping.

"If they are both willing. You won't be!"

"Fuck you, John!"

The silence in the bathroom is deafening, and then she repeats, "Fuck you. You want to think that, go ahead. I know that I love you. And I know I wanted it for a long time. And if you find me so repulsive as a potential Omega for your majestic fucking self, that you think only your long suppressed Alpha urges will make you mate with me, then there's the door. You're right. One of us has to leave, and it's you. And..." Every cell in her body is screaming in agony, but she sinks her nails into the red pot where the suppressant was injected. "And don't come back."

He is breathing heavily, chest heaving, and his eyes are bright blue, and she wonders how much time is left. And she wonders whether a sup in her blood will be enough to make her forget she's an Omega - his, his, his Omega - and whether she will fight if he lunges at her now.

"You are so..." He starts, and then shakes his head. Like a horse, his long dark waves brushing at his shoulders. As if he's trying to clear his mind.

She suddenly wonders if she'd be able to defend herself if he tries to force himself onto her. Would she be able to hit him? With what? She's watching him intently.

"I didn't want to mate with you because I was worried it would change you. You… Wren..." His face distorts, in a pained grimace. "I can't lose you. You, real you. The prickly, angry Wren."

He's shaking. She watches in shock how he lifts a visibly trembling hand and wipes his forehead. There was sweat on it. It's hot in the bathroom, but she realises it has nothing to do with the steam in the room. His lips are brighter pink, and the eyes are burning.

"I love that Wren… I don't need another..." His words are jumbled, and he exhales sharply three times in a row, like before lifting weight.

"Wren, you need to leave now."

* * *

She jumps out of the bathtub, grabs the robe from the floor, and rushes out of the bathroom. She's in the parlour, and she doesn't know what to do. Get dressed? Get her jacket? Run, get a cab? Push him out of the flat? He's slowly walking out of the bathroom, and she knows he can still control himself.

And then she makes a decision.

"Go back to the bathroom, John. There is a lock on the door on the outside. I can lock you in it. If anything, I can leave the flat at any moment. And send someone to let you out… Or… I'll let you out when I'm off the sup."

He freezes in front of her.

"Wren, I might break the door…"

"Let's hope it doesn't happen." She emits a hysterical giggle. And then her usual insecurity and the doubts rise. "I mean that is of course if you want... To stay… And to…" Mate, it's all she wants him to want - to stay with her, and to mate with her, and finally solve this, and to make it all go away, and make it all clear, and - be together! "To stay and talk… I mean, I feel we still haven't discussed it properly, and..."

His large scorching palm roughly cups the back of her head, and he pulls her in. His mouth is on hers, greedy and hot, and he looms over her, making her arch, weighing onto her. He still tastes wrong, it's the sup in his blood and saliva, and she wraps her arms around his neck.

"Put a chair under the handle..." he raspily breathes out into her lips, and rushes back to the bathroom. The door bangs, the lock from inside clicks, and Wren - wobbly on her feet - comes up to it and presses the button on her side. She drags a chair from the kitchen, and wedges it under the handle.

She also puts the phone into her pocket, 911-2 - Omega helpline - dialed up, only the green button needed to press. And then she sinks on the floor, her back pressed to the door. He is quiet behind it, and then she hears a low chuckle.

"I see..." His voice is husky, and he clears his throat. Some muscles clench under her navel from this sound. "I see a flaw in this plan."

"What flaw?" she asks squeakily.

"You can't push my cuppa under the door. I'll die of starvation here." She closes her eyes and imagines how his shoulders shake when he's laughing.

"You can nibble on the soap bar..."

There is a theatrical bang of a cabinet door, some rummaging noises - he's probably just thumping some random object on a wall - and he makes a loud 'ugh' noise.

"It's vegan soap, Wren! I'm a man, I need my protein!"

She snorts, and shakes her head.

How is this arsed up situation suddenly OK?

"Wren..." She listens attentively to his soft tone. "I don't know what I'll be like… It's your flat, your bathroom… the smells… And we did shag here a few times, so I'll have memories… And even with the sups I can smell you through the door. Right now you smell different, it's the meds, but I can still… I know your flavour… So I might try to break the door, but I might also try to convince you to open it… Whatever I say, whatever I promise, don't open it… Even if I say I'm hurt, cut myself, or something… I adore that you're a doctor, but don't let it make you come to my rescue. And even if I sound sane… I won't be..."

"Alright."

What did she get herself into?!

"And I'm sorry." He sounds pained.

"Don't be…"

"There will be a lot of talking… yelling… about your body..."

"Sure..." She doesn't know if she should laugh, or cry.

"Mostly about particular parts… God, your parts…." His voice sounds lower.

"We can talk about something else… Distract you..."

"That might be… too late for it… little one..."

* * *

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* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	4. Two Jets and a Door

"John, I need to go… make tea… Are you going to be OK?"

"I learnt to go to bathroom independently when I was two." He's chuckling. "Given I was afraid of the flush for a year or so afterwards..." So, he's still sober. She rises, unsure on her feet.

"I bet you weren't afraid of anything… ever… You're an Alpha."

"I still hate heights. And something touching my leg in water. Trust me, we are not as badarse as they draw us."

She wants to ask if he'd mind her touching his leg underwater, but decides against it. Among other things if she thinks about shag in water - or any other for that matter - with him, he might sense her arousal. She's actually going to the parlour to clean her vomit. She's a medic, and a clean freak.

She gets a pot of water in the kitchen and quickly washes and sanitises the floor. Then, she indeed makes tea for herself. She's constantly checking the clock on her mobile. It's been twelve minutes since his sups stopped working.

She slowly comes up to the door, with a mug in her hand.

"Wren?"

She's changed into soft trousers and a tee, and she's barefoot. She didn't think he could hear her.

"How are you?" she asks carefully.

"You have an ickle bathroom, Wren," he speaks in a funny whiny tone. "I can hardly stretch my legs." He fit alright when they shagged for three hours on that floor. He's just showing off. "How are you? Still nauseous?"

He sounds normal, and she tentatively takes the same spot, her back to the bathroom door.

The cuppa is hot, and she stirs her usual honey and cream in it.

"Almost gone. I took some meds for the headache too."

"Good. You should monitor your state." He moves in the bathroom, and she hears a quiet thud.

"I am. What are you doing there?" she asks, and he makes a noncommittal hum like noise. "Are you smelling my perfume?" Her voice is raspy. Why is she asking? She'll make it worse.

"Actually, I was playing with your rubber duckies. But now that you mentioned..." His tone is flirty. How is he completely blasé? Wren's starting to doubt the whole dramalama about Alphas supposesly going crazy around Omegas. On the other hand, she's on sups, and he's always shown admirable self-control around her.

"Could you please tell me about your exes?" she asks softly, and her fingers clench around the mug. That's a bold move for an Omega. He's quiet. "John?"

"Wren, what does it matter?" His tone is too even.

"We might mate in about an hour. I want to know what it was like for you before."

"Wren, we won't mate. We'll talk, I'll start acting crazy pretty soon, and you'll go somewhere I can't find you, and send someone to open this door. OK?" She's breathing through a wave of panic his irritated tone causes in her.

"Not OK." She's staring on the swirls of tea in her mug. "I've decided it a while ago. As soon as you'd offer, I'd have agreed..."

"We both know that you don't actually want it." His tone is bitter. "And I'm not sure I want to offer… Even now, with you behind this door… Even with you so close..." She bites into her bottom lip.

"So you just want to go on the way we had it before? I know you've had plenty of Omegas you shagged but haven't mated with, your friend Gloinson got bladdered at the last Christmas party, and enlightened me..." She realises she said too much just a second too late.

"What?" She doesn't need to see to know he's snarling through bared teeth. She's still, her spine straight and rigid. "He said what?!"

"He said you liked dating Omegas… Because we are better in bed..." She doesn't think she is, but that's not the point right now. "But you don't mate."

To think of it, she had absolutely no reason to think she was any different. Just another Omega.

"It's none of his fucking business whom I shag and mate with," he spits out, and she hears a thump. That definitely was a fist into a wall. Not full force yet, but he's very angry. O genes kick in, and she curls in a tight ball.

They sit in silence for a bit.

"Wren, I'm not defending my life choices..."

She suddenly feels drained and nauseous, and she nods although he can't see her. There's also additional authoritativeness to his tone. Overall, the cadence of his speech has changed, and even with the sups she can hear it - lower sounds, more rasp, deeper in his throat.

"Alright… You're right." She has no energy to fight anymore. "I say, I go now. I can stay with… I shouldn't tell you where… but it doesn't matter, you're still fine, so I'll just go… And someone will let you out. Do you want me to call Phil or Killian?" She's in rather decent relationship with his nephews. She should call Killian though, Phil is also an Alpha.

"Wren..." He sounds reproachful, and she drops her head lower. He gives it a thought, and then she hears another thump. "Yeah, go. We will talk when you're done with your heat." There's tension in his voice, he's pushing himself to say it.

She rises.

"Wren, wait…" She freezes, like the hackneyed trained dog. "Give me a jiffy… I need to concentrate, I'm arsed up already..." The sound he makes is very growl like. "OK, how much time do you have?"

"An hour."

"Stay for a bit more… We can talk..." His velvet voice is suddenly softer, more dangerous, and she isn't sure that sitting back down was a decision her body made with her participation.

But he was right. She has a fight in her. And it's marginally easier with sups in her blood.

"Tell me of your exes." She's quiet but firm.

The growl she hears tells her his control is slipping. Goosebumps rush down her back.

He starts speaking after at least two minutes of silence. "There were two. One when I was seventeen. It was an experiment… For both of us. It was just like a sport." Wren sharply regrets asking. It's just sickening at first, but then her willfulness takes over.

"It's hardly possible for Omega, John, to treat mating… like a sport," she draws out venomously. "I know you like thinking that was what happened, but I bet she didn't think that way."

"He was male, and we didn't have sex outside his heats." Wren is staring at the opposite wall with wide eyes. "He might have been in love with me, you're right. But he knew what it was from the start. I'm not gay, and knew it then. You know how rare gay Omegas are. Since mating is all about procreation..."

0.16% of general population, her mind supplies her with stats. Female gay Omegas sexuality is more fluid, more complicated, the numbers vary from research to research. Most female Omegas are considered consistently bisexual, although just as he said a moment ago, it's all about procreation…

"And the second one?"

"Wren, you're on a slippery slope here," he warns her in a low voice. "Do you really want to talk about another Omega with me? Bringing my mind to a shag isn't very smart right now."

"You'll live," she bites back, and freezes in shock from her own words. Is she angry with him for something to suddenly be so ballsy? Yes, she is. She's angry for his attitude, for how easily he can talk about that unnamed Omega, whose biology he used for his 'experimentations' and tossed the poor bloke aside. Wren makes sure to think about it properly, in detail. Angry is good. Angry helps her fight.

"You're pushing it, little one."

"Tell me of the second one," she repeats in a whisper.

"Or what? You'll leave? You can't leave me." He's purring and growling at the same time. He sounds very self-assured, just like always.

"I'm on sups. I am as much as a Beta."

"Even if you were a Beta, you're in love with me, Wren. And sups don't take that away."

Now she's properly pissed off.

"Oh, so it's a repeating pattern with you? Make us fall for you, poor daft Omegas, and then spread our legs? For your experimentations. So, how do I compare to a cock?"

He slams into the door with all his weight - fists, and possibly knees making most of the noise. She whimpers and scampers on the floor, her palms and bare feet squeaking on the wooden floorboards. Her mug is rolling across the hall.

"Shut the fuck up!" he roars, and she's taking loud spasmodic breaths in, her back pressed to the furthest wall. "Don't you dare thinking you know what I feel! You don't know how fucking hard it is with you!"

She's pressing her hands over her mouth, and he slams a fist into the door, and then again.

"Do you think I don't want to mate with you? It's all I've been thinking about. To make you mine, to finish it?!" He's yelling. "Do you bloody know how many times I almost asked?! But you'd say 'no!' Or worse, you'd agree, and I'd break you! I don't want a fucking Omega! I've tried it once! No more!" Another fist meets the door, and Wren jerks.

He's growling, and then she can hear him sit heavily on the floor.

"Was that what you had last time?" She can't believe she's still talking. And her voice sounds much more confident that she's feeling. Her hands are shaking visibly.

"She was perfect. A perfect Omega." His voice is bleak. "An interior designer, beautiful, sexy… Compliant. From a good family, brought up by a strict Omega mother."

There's a long standing debate on whether Omega behaviour is more prominently determined by hormones, or upbringing. But if they dress one in pink since childhood, teach one to cook and serve, and don't push math onto them, one would be more prone to becoming 'the perfect Omega,' wouldn't they? It's not the time to tell him that there's no such thing as a 'perfect Omega.' They are all people, Alphas and Omegas, and each one of them has the right to choose how to live, biology be damned. And if an Omega wants to cut people and spend nights over chemistry books as opposed to getting her beauty sleep for perfect makeup application in the morning, fuck the customs, this Omega can!

"And I just couldn't..." Wren considers moving closer, because she can hardly hear him now, but she's still shaking. "I wanted to be with a person... Not a set of rules, and manners, and perfectly executed stunts in bed..."

Wren swallows bitter spit in her mouth. Sups or not, ballsy or not, thinking about him with another makes her want to bawl and puke.

"I decided that was it. I stayed away from Omegas. There were occasional slips, I'm no saint. And fuck Gloinson, he's just pissed off that I knobbed that chick in Puerto Rico..." Wren can't stand it anymore!

"Please, stop talking about sleeping with other women!" She sounds as if she were in pain. She is in pain. There are cramps, and she gulps air with an open mouth. He's quiet. She wonders if he can feel remorse in this state. He should. He's hurting her.

"You've had an Alpha boyfriend before me..." He's being his usual stubborn self, but she catches a note of uncertainty in his voice.

"For a bit. But I didn't want anything more than just Beta relationship from him. We hardly even slept together..." Unlike him, she thinks angrily, she doesn't want to talk about shagging other people. "I just had no time for this. I was in uni, and it was the last year of my first Science Degree..."

"Oh that explains it." He's snarling again, his tone sarcastic. "And now, you're engaged in your residency. You just have no time for this stupid fuckery. And gods forbid, if you get pregnant! Don't worry, I remember! You fucking remind me with every chance!"

The cramps are so strong now, she bends and presses her forehead to her knees.

"You're just angry right now..." She hates how whiny she sounds. "You said it yourself, you like how ballsy and independent I am. You said you adored that I was a future doctor. Don't twist it now… It's not about my career. It's about what mating could do to me."

He's quiet, and she checks her mobile. It's amazing that all this mess took only thirty two minutes.

She has another jet in the cabinet in the kitchen where she keeps her meds. Contraceptives are there too. In twenty two minutes she has to either take one of the two, or be somewhere very far away.

He's quiet, and she tentatively crawls to the door.

"John, you said it yourself..." she starts, and he barks a half laugh, half actual bark.

"I know what I said, Wren. Do you think all I care about is my Alpha awesomeness? I've given it a lot of thought. And despite what you think of my kind, we do understand consent and choice. It's your body, and your life. But it's also my choice, Wren. And if you open this bloody door, with sups out of your system, you'll be as much as taking advantage of me. Because I won't be able to stop, whatever my doubts are right now."

She's sitting with this thought for a bit.

"And, Wren, I do adore that you're a future doctor. And your ballsiness is the best turn on for me. Believe me..." He emits a choked laugh. "Even through the door, and with the fucking meds in your smell, I can still taste you. And all I can think of is eating you out."

She closes her eyes.

"So, how about you call yourself a cab? And make sure I don't hear the address..."

"I have another jet in the kitchen. We can get another two hours..."

"Fuck no, Wren! Take mercy!" He's not joking. "I have a giant wood, I smashed my knuckles into the door, I'm bleeding on your favourite mat, and every muscle in my body hurts. I think that's enough sups for one time."

She takes a few measuring breaths in.

"OK… OK..." her mind whirrs. "We have a few minutes left. So let's talk. That was the whole point, wasn't it? So… So, what's the worst that can happen? Say, I stay, and we… mate..." She gets up and starts pacing in front of the bathroom door. "I'll take contraceptives, I can't get pregnant. And you won't brand me. You aren't even sure you want to mate, so you won't mark me..."

"Are you fucking crazy?" He is suddenly so loud that she jumps away from the door like a cat from a cucumber in a YouTube video. "Wren, I'll sink my teeth into your neck as soon as I can. It might be even before the first knot. Hell, it might be before the first shag even."

She's staring at the door in disbelief. But he just said!..

"Wren, are you daft?" he asks slowly.

"Apparently," she answers helplessly. "Because I just don't understand. You just said..."

"Wren…" This thump is definitely his head meeting the door. "God, you're thick… What's here not to understand?"

"You said you're worried what mating would do to me! We know that Omegas might become more dependent, at least at the beginning, their opinions of children and marriage might change, and you said you were worried you'd break me…"

"I love you, Wren. How is that not clear?" His talking in a low, dark voice, his forehead probably pressed to the door. "I want you to be more dependent! I want you to want my babies, and get married, and live happily ever fucking after! I want it, but I am scared… I want the real you, and I want the real you to want it. I'm scared to wake up in five days, and see... an Omega… I don't want to ask myself every time whether it's still you making a decision, or just the hormones..."

Wren slowly steps closer to the damn door and presses her forehead to it. Her hands are splayed on the wood, and of course she's just imagining that she can feel the heat of his palms through it. She can't even know if his hands are there.

"Then we'll have to do it without branding." Wren hears his sharp exhale. "You will have to keep yourself in check."

"Wren..."

"John, we can't run from this anymore. We both want it, and all we can do it to try. And if after the… knotting…" Her cheeks flame up. "If after it, we still feel we should, we can do the branding next time."

"I don't know if I can resist, Wren..." She's never heard him that insecure.

"Of course you can." She's surprised to feel a small smile tug at the corner of her lips. "You are John Thorington, badarse Alpha, and a puffed up, cantankerous prick. You are the baddest of badarses there. I have full faith in you."

"Now you're just buttering me up." He chuckles behind the door, and Wren sighs softly. After all, all the A and O rubbish aside, it's him behind that door. It's John.

"I want to try… I want you..." she whispers. "All of you…"

"Wrennie..." His voice caresses her, and she licks her lips. And yet there are matters to take care of before it.

"But…."

"Oh god..." he groans.

"You have to consent to this, John. And it's needs to be sober." She hears him guffaw behind the door. She knows how ridiculously reversed this sounds, but she stands by her choice of words. "John, we both know our doubts, and it'll take a lot out of you. And if you slip, you'll brand me although we both aren't sure we are ready. It's a lot of responsibility..."

"Give me a minute..." He's raspy. Wren checks her watch.

"You have eight." She still needs time to either run, or take a jet of contraceptives - depending on what he decides.

He steps away from the door. Her senses are growing sharper. She listens to her body. Pre-heat is basically PMS, multiplied hundred times. So far, she feels fine. But the nausea and the headache are almost gone as well.

"Just sex then?" he asks from behind the door. "We mate, I knot you, but we don't do the life brand..."

"Yes..."

"I don't know, Wren… I am not sure..."

"I am. You have my full consent and full trust." Her tone is firm. He exhales noisily, rustles with something inside, and then water starts running. There's splashing, and she assumes he is washing his face with cold water. The tap is closed, and he clears his throat.

"OK, let's do it."

Wren runs to the kitchen, and rummages through the shelves. The contraceptive jet hisses, and she hurriedly rubs the second red circle on her thigh. The only side effect of the contraceptives is weight gain. That is of course if there's no intolerance. Wren really hopes she isn't intolerant. There's enough drama without it.

She sprints back to the bathroom door.

"John?" He hums in return. She wonders if he has doubts. "John, I'm sure we made the right decision." He's still not answering. She shifts between her feet. And then a thought comes.

"To prove to you how certain I am I'll open the door now, before the sups wear off."

"What?!"

"I trust you, John. I trust you, and I know you won't do anything to harm me in any way." Her hand is on the handle.

"Wren, wait..."

The lock clicks, and she opens the door.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

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 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

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 **Details in the latest blog post.**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

* * *

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

* * *

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	5. The Door Opens

He's sitting on the floor, his back to the tub, one leg bent.

* * *

He helped her to put this tub in. They'd been dating for about a month then, just had had three or four nights together. Everything was so new, so unnerving. She mentioned her landlord had approved her renovation plans, and she'd found the tub in a pawn shop. She wanted a huge tub, the biggest there was, and that's why now there is no room for his endless legs in the bathroom right now. She loves baths, she can spend hours in scorching water. She does spend them, and quite often with him. A hot bath, or his skin - are the only two things that can make her feel warm.

He came with his nephew to carry it up the three flight of stairs of her building. Between the floors - she doesn't remember which ones - he dropped it on his foot, and swore. She'd never heard him swear before it. She stared at him, already madly in love with him, and then she heard his nephew chuckling into his astonishingly orange beard. The neatly trimmed whiskers are the same colour as Wren's hair - ripe carrot - and indeed an astonishing contrast to the man's golden blonde locks. He's very attractive, blue-eyed like his Uncle, and… also an Alpha. Wren had never spent a day in the company of two active Alphas. They brought the bath up, had lunch in a small shop in the next block, and then the nephew suggested a walk to the market in her neighbourhood. It was easier outside with them - in her flat she felt almost dizzy from their presence - but still she could sometimes feel Phil's looks on herself. It was such a strange dynamic that day. She's still not sure what she thinks about it.

* * *

He lifts his face, and she sees his pupils are dilated to the point where blue of his irises is almost hidden. His lips are bright, and he's breathing heavily. She wants to stop herself - she doesn't want to offend him - but she can't help but quickly look at her watch. Five more minutes until the first symptoms of heat are to come back.

She then looks at him again. He hasn't moved, just his eyes are following her. His right arm is on the bent leg, hand hanging relaxed, and she sees the bloodied knuckles. She quickly looks at the wall, and sees the blood stain where he smashed his fist into it. There're probably more stains on the door, but the leftover control she has over her emotions tells her it's no time to discuss the decour of her bathroom.

"It was too risky..." His voice's nothing but a raspy whisper.

"I trust you..." she breathes out, and makes a step towards him.

She's worried in a few minutes she will be nothing but an animalistic urge, nothing but the desire to submit, and be his. These are the last minutes she might be seeing him through her own eyes, as Wren, as a person… Her eyes are greedily roaming him, and she is shaking.

"Did you take the jet?" He's frowning.

She doesn't want to talk about it. She wants him to say he loves her, that she is beautiful to him, not just a body that smells and moves and drives him into mating frenzy. Suddenly she wants to cry, and she recognises the pre-heat symptoms. She's overemotional, and cold, and she feels discomfort under her navel, a nasty pulling sensation. In a few minutes all he'll want is to mate with her, and no other thought will stay in his mind. At the moment she still smells of meds…

At the moment she's still not desirable… She's still Wren to him.

She comes up to him and slowly gets down on her knees. He still hasn't moved.

She stretches her hand and cups his jaw. He's not the only one who'll lose any control, any sanity in a few minutes, and suddenly she feels tears rolling down her cheeks. She made this decision, and she doesn't regret, but she wishes it were different.

"I'm scared..." She realises it's true as soon as she pronounces it.

She can see his throat move, strong pronounced tendons, and he shifts, closer, but still not touching her. She's grateful. He's not intruding. In a few minutes it won't matter, but for now she'd like to be asked, if not explicitly. Him giving her a choice, and some freedom, makes her feel still like an independent person.

"Don't be..." he whispers. "It's only natural… You won't feel like it's something wrong..."

"I still do right now..." She brushes her thumb to his cheek above the beard. "I'm scared, and it feels like…"

Dying, it feels like dying. In a few minutes Wren Leary, with her OCD, and 165 IQ, and fondness for fuzzy socks and Leonard Cohen will be gone. She's terrified that there will be nothing of her left, and she slowly moves to him, and wraps her arms around his neck. He's still rigid.

"There're just two minutes… Maybe less… It'll start soon..." She's shaking more violently now, and he wraps one arm around her waist.

They are sitting in silence, and she is as much as holding her breath, listening to every little change in her body. She is feeling warmer with each second, and then she's aware of his heart booming near her. Blood is rushing through her veins, and her ears are ringing. The muscles clench between her legs, and she slowly inhales.

And then the first wave hits, and her body shudders, in a sweet craving, her skin flushes, and suddenly all her senses are flooded with him. The smell of his skin - she sucks air in noisily; the taste that she imagines so clearly that her mouth waters; the sound of his breathing; the warmth of his body near her - the jumper under her palm on his back, the beard, and the skin under her cheek, and his soft hair brushing at her ear…

"It's strange..." These are her first words, and she's shocked by how low her voice is.

"What is?" he asks, hardly audibly, still not moving.

"I still feel… sober… Although you're here..."

"It hasn't started yet. You still smell like sups."

She moves away and meets his eyes. His jaw is clenched, and she realises just how much effort it takes him to stay immobile.

"We should go to my bedroom…" she offers, her cheeks suddenly flaming up.

Her mind is foggier and foggier with each second. She is growing confused, swinging between her usual doubts and insecurities - what if he doesn't even want to sleep with her - and some sort of gleeful excitement.

"Go, I'll come in a minute… I need to wash my hands..."

She realises he's not looking into her eyes, and his tone is purposefully even. She jumps on her feet and quickly walks to the bedroom. She turns on the light, it's already dark outside. The bed is messy, she slept in today. She quickly straightens the sheets and the duvet, intently listening to the water running in the bathroom. She looks around the bedroom. It's clean and neat, just as it always is, but she has to stuff her hands into the bottoms pockets to stop herself from faffing about. She then catches her reflection in the large mirror on the wall. She's rosy cheeked, her lips are bright and slightly parted, and her eyes are widened, pupils giant and black. He was right, Omega in heat is easily noticed. Whether she is indeed more beautiful than usual, is hard to tell.

She cares about it less and less every second, though. She isn't sure what to do, but then she climbs on the bed, over the covers, and pulls her knees to her chin. Her heart is drumming in her chest.

* * *

He enters slowly, his jumper is off, and his belt already unfastened. She gasps and instinctively moves back on the bed. Her shoulder blades meet the headboard, and he steps closer to the bed, the mattress keels under his weight, his one knee pressed down.

His lips are pressed tightly; his face is tense, almost angry, and his eyes are burning.

"Lie down," he orders coarsely, and she shifts and rolls, onto her back, her arms along her body, legs together.

Her mind is still grasping for the remnants of sanity, she realises that is not her normal behaviour, but the pleasure of his proximity and from following the order - just doing as he says, no thinking - is overwhelming.

"Close your eyes."

She does. Suddenly the world is nothing but darkness, and the sound of his breathing, low, and laboured, and the smell of his skin, and the cologne, and then his fingers are hooked at her waist of her trousers, and she readily lifts her hips. The knickers are gone as well, he takes them off together with the PJ bottoms. Even this minuscule contact with his skin makes her shudder.

There is a second when she realises he's sitting near her, and not lying down. And before she can form a though, he wedged his hand between her legs, wiggles his fingers - her legs readily fall apart - and then he sinks two of his fingers into her. She was dripping wet, and she cries out, and arches on the bed.

"Quiet… I need you to be quiet..." He's snarling, and she's scared she's doing something wrong, and he's pumping his fingers, but it's so difficult not to moan and scream! She could never keep quiet, but now she is in heat, and he is here, and he's her Alpha!

He's rough, he's hurting her, but she greets every movement with clenching of her muscles, and then he jerks the hand back. She's immediately terrified, of the emptiness inside, and she can't even see his face, because he told her to close her eyes, and then his mouth covers her between her legs, and he sucks, greedily, and his tongue thrusts inside, and then his teeth scrape at her vulva, and she sinks her teeth into the bottom lip, to stay silent, and then an orgasm comes, and she quakes, her fingers clawing at the duvet, and he shifts, and she feels his weight on the bed between her legs. He lay down. His face hovering over her sex, she can feel the hot breath, and the fingers are back, cruel, and punishing , and she can't help it anymore. She's loud, screaming, and thrashing, and he pressed his hand on her hip, not letting her escape the torture, and another orgasm comes, so big and hot, that she can't see or hear anything anymore, and she slacks on the bed, the cover wet with her sweat between her shoulder blades. The mouth returns the third time, and she is crying now, tears running her cheeks, and she's whining, maybe begging him to stop, maybe begging him to never do, and when the muscles spasm, and oxytocin pumps into her blood, she emits a low pained moan, and the world goes black.

She must have lost consciousness, no more than for a second, but nonetheless she was definitely out. She opens her eyes and looks down. He's supporting himself on straight arms, above her body, his shoulders shaking, from strain, his mouth and beard wet with her juices.

"I didn't… I wanted to fuck you..." He's fighting his own ragged breathing to speak. "But not like that... Not you... " He's hardly coherent, and she tries to rise on her elbows, but she's still a ragdoll.

"Can you… Wren… Are you sober?"

She knows there will be the next wave, very soon. But he was right. Three orgasms in a row, with his saliva mixing into her chemistry, gave her enough satisfaction to let her function for a few minutes. And she's sober enough to understand what he's just done for her. Gratitude - sane, and her own, not Omega loyalty - fills her, and she pushes herself to move, and she finds his body, and wraps her arms around his shoulders, and he presses his nose into her neck.

"You smell so good… God, what I'll do to you..." He's growling, and she nuzzles his temple.

His hands find the hem of her tee, and she readily lifts her arms, letting him pull it off. His eyes are on her breasts, and he licks his lips.

"I want to stretch it… Don't want to mate just yet..." Warmth spreads inside, and goosebumps run her whole body from his hungry, predatory tone, and from desire in his eyes.

"Will I remember it?" she asks. Sometimes several hours seemed to be missing in her memories of her heats, but those were different after all. Just her, and dildos, and desperate attempts to silence the libido, at least for a minute or five. She's hoping it will be different this time.

"You will, if we do it right..."

He meets her eyes, and a feral grin twists his lips.

"Do you want me to make you feel right, little one?" It's the Alpha talk, he just wants her to confirm he has all the power over her. It's not actually asking for consent. She's surprised she can still analyse this.

"Please..." she breathes out, and he grins wider. And then she moves closer to him, and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. His skin is the most delicious thing she's had on her tongue, and she runs its tip along his bottom lip. She shortly wonders if she's being bold, but then throws the thought aside. She's shagged him many times before. He seemed to enjoy when she took reins.

She then lies back on the bed, and her body feels sweetly soft, and fluid, and she slightly opens her knees and stretches her arms to him. All she wants is to feel his body weigh on her, and him enter her, and make her his.

He pushes his denim, pants, and socks off, and his tee follows, and she can't stop staring at his cock. It's never been that big, and taut, and the curve is pronounced more than usual. Her lips open, and she has to lick them and swallow saliva. She would love to take him into her mouth, and suck, and lick, and caress him with her lips, and then feel him slide down her throat, choking her, and taking all the pleasure he can from her body - but she pacifies herself with the thought that they have five days ahead of them, and at some point he of course will allow her.

He moves closer, but still doesn't lie in.

"You're so beautiful..." He stretches his hand, and the tips of his fingers are on her sternum, between her tits, and she wanted to shift, and her nipples are painfully tense, and demanding a touch, but she doesn't dare. His fingers slide down, onto her stomach, and he splays his hand, pressing gently. She gasps, arching slightly, squeezing her knees, wet and hot between her legs.

"Wren, look at me..." She obediently does. His face is serious, eyebrows frowned, and she searches his eyes. "You are always like that… Beautiful to me… It's not different..."

She smiles to him shakily, and lifts her hands to him again, hoping he would move closer. His hand is still on her stomach, and then he leans in and pressed his cheek below her navel.

"Did you take the jet?"

She forgot she didn't answer.

"Yes..."

"Pity..." he murmurs, and licks across her stomach. The meaning of his gesture makes her exhale sharply. He said they wouldn't even go through the life branding, there wasn't even any talk about not taking protection. She tenses, and he lifts his eyes at her. "Don't you want my child inside you, little one?"

She makes a pathetic whimpering noise. That wasn't what they talked about! Just a few minutes ago… They've discussed it! She whines incoherently. She wants to say something, to pacify him, to make sure he isn't angry with her and that he won't reject her now.

"John..." She can't find any words, and tears run down her temples, and he's watching her.

"So, what is it, little one? Do you want my child, or not?"

"But we talked about it..." She's shaking so much that she fists her hands to ground herself enough to speak. "Please… You said..."

"I know what I said," he sharply interrupts her, and it's like a slap. "But what do you think now?" She swallows the bitter tears that got onto her lips. "Answer me!"

"Not now!" She cries back, and sob falls off her lips. "I can't now! We are not ready!"

His face softens, and he slides in the bed near her, pulling her to him. She is crying desperately, and he's making comforting shushing noises, stroking the back of her head.

"I needed to know it's still you, Wren..." he whispers, and she's breathing in his smell, trying to calm down. Her mind is whirring, and she presses her hand over his chest. Her fingers are threaded in the thick hair, and the muscles under her palms are hard and hot.

"It is… still me..." she answers, and then closes her eyes, trying to find that small island of calm inside her, among the painful desire, and the Omega thoughts that are louder than they've ever been in her life.

"I will mate with you soon, Wren." His voice is even, low, and she stills, awed and immediately excited. "I just want to know it's you I'm with..."

"It is me..." she says again, and then she rises on one elbow, and shifts up, and she is above him.

Strangely enough, the view of his gorgeous face, in all its Alpha attractiveness - the prominent profile, the strong line of a jaw, the thick beard, the willful curve of his thick, black eyebrows - makes her calmer. She takes a slow breath in, and she feels almost content. Somewhere inside her the animal and the person are slowly coming to terms of coexisting in her.

"It is me. And I love you," she speaks softly.

He nods, and smiles to her gently. There is relief and some sort of vulnerability in his features. The lust will come in a few seconds, and neither will have any control over it, she realises. She will just enjoy this one moment of tenderness.

* * *

She is the first to move into a kiss - against all odds, and having silenced all the doubts and Omega jitters in her mind - and she's planning to make it a good one. She's savouring that tiny moment when her breath bounces off his lips, and then her mouth is on his. His lips are almost hot, the skin is familiar, and she gifts herself with a deep inhale of his smell. His hands are on her back, one above another, so that there's none of her skin to feel cold, and he pulls her closer. She splays her palms on his chest, fanning her fingers, and then slides them up, in a dizzying sensual round movement, over his shoulders, and then down to the upper arms. She has to tear her lips off his, because there's just too much. To concentrate on his skin under her hands, she needs to escape his lips, his flavour, his tongue, and even his teeth - he just doesn't seem to get enough. She take a large gulp of air, with her open mouth, as if drowning.

And that is how much control he allows her, and his hands are on her upper arms now, but not mirroring her caress. The palms are hot, and demanding, grasping, and he rolls her underneath him, pushing her roughly, and her breath is knocked out of her. It seems he's never been that careless. They've had wild shag of course, but she could always feel that limit he'd allow himself to reach, and always stop. Not to bruise her skin, not to leave purple fingerprints on her pale body. She's so much smaller, weaker…

He's between her legs, heavy, and scorching, and she wants to take this moment in, to enjoy it - she wants to look into his eyes. But he's moving, his mouth greedy on her throat and then shoulder, his palms groping her, fingers of one hand for a second squeezing her hip so very inconsiderately, and she squeezes her eyes. There is some low menacing noise in his chest, it's a hum, and a groan, and then his teeth nip the side of her breast. She exhales sharply, and then his hand is between her legs.

He finally shifts and meets her eyes. It doesn't bring relief. They are not what she expected: none of the brilliant blue, none of the witty man she loves, who always loses his reading glasses, and hates car commercials, none of John Thorington, turophile and _Genesis_ fan. It's raw desire, and thirst, and hunger, and she is an Omega, she should be happy, and greet it, but it feels wrong, and terrifying, and she doesn't understand how she can even analyse it, and why she wants to cry and run.

"Wren..."

* * *

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romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

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* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	6. Animal Inside

**WARNING!**

 **Trigger warning for this chapter: Elements of non-con intimacy.** **The description of the story will be changed accordingly.**

* * *

"I'm scared..." she breathes out, feeling it is her last chance to speak to him, to make him hear her, to beg him to understand. She doesn't know how to say it, but everything is shaking inside, and she can't breathe in.

He stops. The tip of his cock is pressed to her, she's wet, and swollen, and yet he stops. His eyes cool down, and she can see the glacial blue she adores, and he blinks purposefully.

"John..." She's begging not knowing herself for what she's asking.

"Me too… I'm scared too..." He's rasping through clenched teeth, and Wren freezes, suddenly so focused on him, attuned, her own panic and the storm raging in her body stepping at the background. "I've never... mated with someone I cared for..."

"Say it..." She needs him to say it, and suddenly there is equal parts demand and plea in her tone.

"I've never mated with someone I love." He leans in, but doesn't kiss her. He's looming over her, so much taller, so much larger. She drops her head back and meets his eyes.

"Tell me it's different… I'll believe you..."

"It's different, little one. If it hurts, it'll hurt me too." He brushed his lips to her temple.

"Will it? You said it was natural… I shouldn't even be questioning it now..." Her hands slide up his arms, and her fingers wrap around his biceps.

"You're too sensible. Smart, little Wren… And knowing too much never helped in shag..." He smirks lopsidedly, and she chews at her lip.

"I'm so scared but I'm also turned on. And if you tell me, I'll stop… I'm an Omega… And the sups are out of my system, and..."

"Wren," he interrupts softly, and then he goes down on his elbows, shifting, and leveling his face with hers. "You think too much. It's just sex. It's a big deal, but it's not like you're a virgin. And maybe it's not even that different from just a shag..."

"Why are you so calm? Where's the Alpha fever?" Her eyes are roaming his face. "Just couple hours ago you threatened to rape me for hours!"

"You don't smell that good right now." She can't understand if he's joking. "You're scared. You out of all people should know that chemically fear is incompatible with arousal."

"How do you know it?" she blurts out in shock.

"They teach it in Sex Ed at school." Oh right, the separate Sex Ed classes. Wren always hated those. "Wren, we are here, in bed, naked… Let's just do what comes naturally, yeah?"

To her own shock Wren hears a snorting chuckle from herself.

"That's the tackiest pull talk I've heard. And from an Alpha! In bed! When I'm in heat!"

She starts laughing, and then realizes she can't stop, and then she realises it's too late, because she's roaring with laughter, and sobbing, and hiccuping, and then a heave comes, and she has just a second to grab a rubbish bin from near the bed, and the tea she drank pours out, mixed with her spit and stomach juices, and she's heaving again, painfully, and he's holding her hair. She's choking and coughing, and it just wouldn't stop and then his palm is gliding on her back, calming and warm and solid. She drops on the bed, limp, pressing her hand over her mouth, worried to smear spit and sick on the sheets. She's so cold that she's shaking the bin.

He pries it out of her hands.

"Do you want to go to bathroom?" She nods, and he helps her up. Her knees are buckling, and he's supporting her.

* * *

In the bathroom she washes her face, brushes her teeth. He didn't come in, but stayed outside the door.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" Her Omega genes are screaming in panic at the thought.

"Good. I don't think I could. You're my Omega, I just _have_ to make sure you're alright."

He's leaning on the wall, completely relaxed, and comfortable in his nakedness. If she had a body like his, she'd be too. He has all the desirable attributes of his sex and his Alpha class. He's large, not a spec of extra fat, hairy chest, bulging muscles on the arms, well formed legs. Wren lifts her face and looks in the mirror. All the rosiness of arousal and heat is gone from her cheeks, there are purple shadows under her eyes, and her lips are white. The freckles are even brighter on her now pallid skin. The hair is sticking out around her head.

"I am not your Omega..." she whispers without taking her eyes off the reflection. "Not yet at least..."

"You've always been my Omega. Since day one."

She turns and looks at him. Somehow it's not hard to believe right now, and not hard to accept. Is it heat? Is that why she feels it's true, and right, and maybe he wasn't wrong, and maybe it'll just come naturally...

"Are you overthinking it again?" he asks, and she hurriedly opens the bottle of mouthwash and rinses and gurgles. She has no answer for him. Perhaps, she does only that.

She then remembers the bin and minces by him to the bedroom, brings it back, and starts washing it.

A soft chuckle from him makes her lift her eyes.

"You're washing a rubbish bin. Naked. Wiggling your bum. Your delicious naked bum. Right in front of me. Am I a saint... or a masochist?" He's still leaning at the wall, but now she can see that the pose is not at all relaxed. He's visibly shaking, straining every muscle, trying to stay put.

"Oh, I'm sorry… I haven't… thought of it..." She hastily stuffs the wet bin under the sink and claps the cupboard door closed. She then freezes, looking at him uncertainly. "Can I wash my hands?"

He answers with a hysterical guffaw.

"Wren, I just..." He chokes on his words and waves his hand at her. The gesture is almost exasperated. "Wash you hands. I'll be in the bedroom. But for god sake's, hurry up." She nods enthusiastically, and he leaves.

* * *

She washes her hands, stuffing her panicking thoughts at the back of her mind. Not thinking about what will happen in bedroom, not thinking why he's waiting for her, she keeps on repeating, and lathers, and rinses, and dries. She prohibits herself to look in the mirror again, and rushes back to the bedroom.

He's lying on the bed, covers and the duvet pushed to the side. He's opened the window, and Wren can smell the fresh fragrance of Summer rain. It's her favourite smell. He is - to her surprise - lying on his stomach. She stops by the door.

"Come, Wren. I have an idea." His voice is soft, and she slowly approaches the bed. "Sit on my back."

She's done it before. He once came back from a long flight, and there was a nerve pinched in his back. He asked for a massage, she was only happy to oblige. The massage didn't last long, quickly turning into an energetic shag on the floor.

She climbs on the bed and then carefully moves on leg over him, and now his lower back is under her fanny. He's relaxed, immobile, and his eyes are closed.

"What are we doing?" she asks in a small voice.

"Whatever you want. What do you want to do?" he asks, and she frowns in confusion.

"I… Is it your idea to help me relax? To let me fondle you?"

"Don't you like to fondle me?" He's using his shag voice. Low, purry, and 100% efficient. At least it used to be.

"And then what? You'll snap, and fuck me into sheets? And mate with me while I'm distracted?" Her tone is venomous. She's trying to ignore his hot skin under her. It's clearly impossible.

"Yes, hopefully. Well, even better if you aren't distracted and enjoying it." She wants to answer in some sharp remark, but he's being earnest and open. And he's trying. He's an Alpha who has a naked Omega literally sitting on him, and he's playing bedroom games to help her go through it. She needs to stop being a bitch and start appreciating him.

"Alright, let's see what magic your glorious physique can do..." she draws out, and he chuckles, shaking her lightly.

* * *

His plan works like a charm. Two minutes into sliding her hands over his muscular back, the shoulders, and down to the waist - and the shoulder hip ratio is absolutely bloody unreal on the man - she feels wetness underneath her. She's also started rubbing to him, and then her lips join the hands. Soon she's caressing him with her whole body, brushing every inch of her skin to him, arching, and bending, and maybe even purring. Her toes tickle his calf, and her lips are dancing on his shoulder blade. And then her hair falls down, and she twists her head making the ends brush at his spine. And then her lips are back on his skin, and she licks along the spine. Her pelvis is pressed into his firm buttocks, and she slides a hand down, cupping one of them.

He isn't moving. Not a single muscle. He is rigid, tense, and his eyes are shut tight. And that is the moment when Wren truly and fully believes that he loves her. And that he is her Alpha. She slides on the bed near him, and her hand lies on the side of his face, turned to her.

"John..." The blue eyes open, burning and pained. "Make me yours."

He leaps, like a large wild animal, and she opens her legs. It's a good thing that he's so fast, she has not time to doubt and feel scared again, and then his cock slides into her in one forceful confident thrust, and she arches on the bed with a sharp shrill scream. There isn't a shadow of pain, or discomfort, and it feels absolutely perfect. He's thick, and hot, filling her to the limit, stretching, and making her moan and scream in the most glorious of fires.

"Mine…Mine… All mine… So soft..." He's snarling through his teeth, and then almost sobbing, and his hips roll into her, so hard that he lifts her off the bed, claiming her, and taking her, and consuming her. "So warm... All mine… God, perfect for me… Fuck..."

His hips are snapping, and she can feel his whole body quaking, and the arms that are caging her are shaking too, and she grasps them firmly, with all her strength, and she forces herself to open her eyes.

She was right, he's intently watching her face, and she takes a deep breath and meets his gaze.

"I'm yours..." she whispers into his eyes. "All yours. You're my Alpha. I'm yours." She slides the hands up, into his shoulders, and pulls him down. She'd never manage it if he didn't obey. But he lowers his torso, and the movements of his hips slow down.

There is purposefulness to how he fucks her now, and she's breathing in measured inhales and exhales, intently listening to the sensations in her body. She has closed her eyes, and then she feels his lips on her neck. He's kissing, and licking, and she drops the head back, giving him more access.

"My Wren… All mine… Only mine..." His Alpha talk is quieter now, but no less feverish. His teeth nip at the skin, and Wren jerks. "Want more… Not enough..."

He's speeding up again, with each thrust pushing harder into her, the tip of his cock hitting her cervix now, and she is losing any perception of reality. All that is left is the heat, and the overwhelming pleasure, and his body entering her, and his weight, and his smell. Her fingers curl into his shoulder, her short nails sinking into his skin. At some point she loses even the understanding where she stops and he ends. Her head is swimming, and then she feels some unfamiliar pressure inside.

It is the knot growing at the base of his cock, she quickly realises. It is a strange sensation but hardly unpleasant. It is also significantly more pleasurable than a didlo with a knot shaped curve that she has. She purchased it online but found it uncomfortable to use. She's hardly ever satisfied with the normal ones, and this one was no better.

She quickly stops thinking about the knot, too absorbed in her sensations. She expects this inebriation that she always feels with him and that is so much stronger now to come over her, and she closes her eyes in sweet anticipation. But then she realises the knot is bothering her now. It's growing faster and faster, with each of his movements, and soon his thrusts are less deep, more pushing into her, and less sliding out, since he's restricted by the knot. It is also so big that she feels it's too much. She's trying to keep quiet for a few more minutes, but soon the pain comes, and very quickly it's almost unbearable.

"John… It hurts..." He continues moving, either not hearing her pathetic whimpering, or ignoring it, and she feels tears run down her temples. "John… Please..."

"I can't…" He emits a loud pained growl, and his whole body jerks. His hands slide on the sheets, fisting them. He's probably trying to stop his body from pushing into her, but it seems beyond his control. And he's locked with her now. The more pain she feels, the more her inner muscles constrict, the less ability to pull out or shift he has.

She's crying openly now, from pain, and some strange feeling of failure, and he rises on his straight arms and then his eyes fly open. She has never seen them like that - bright, cold, almost not human.

She is tongue-tied, awed and terrified, and then he drops his head, his hair brush at her breasts.

"I can't stop it now, Wren… I can't… You're mine now…" She sobs loudly. Muscles clench inside her, in a futile attempt to protect her from the pain that is tearing at her, which only makes it worse.

"Please..."

"If we bond, it'll be easier… You'll take my knot… Easier..." He's rasping, and then greedily licks his lips. It is like her worst nightmare. As if it's not even him.

"No!" she shrieks, and tries to move away. She can't of course, and only hurts herself more jerking on his knot. She yelps in pain.

"I'll bite you, Wren, and the pain will be gone…" he speaks in a low seductive voice, and she's plain scared of him, and then she feels even more terrified when she realises that he actually doesn't need her consent for this.

"Wren, you said you loved me… We are mating… It is just the next step… And you love me, little one…" Her favourite moniker pronounced in this voice of his, when there's nothing of him left in the beast looming over her, in the snarl, and the cold hungry eyes, now 'little one' sounds corrupted, dirty, yet another sign of her submission, her slavery.

"No!" she screams into his face, and he grabs her arm around the wrist and deftly brings it above her head. Before she can realise what's happening, he's encircled both her wrists with his left hand, and his right cups her chin.

"Wrennie… My sweet little Wrennie… Stop fighting it… We are mates, will be in a few seconds… And you want it, to be mine... You said you were mine, little one… And we are both sure. It will just make it official. It won't change anything. Just a bond… Just a formality. And then pain will be gone. You'll take my knot, and it will be so sweet…"

She thrashes in his arms, most scared from the clear realisation that she can't do anything. And then a question rushes through her mind. Why is she even fighting it? She does love him, and wants to be his. The bond will unite them together, till death; it's a union of an Alpha and an Omega in its ultimate form. And yet, at the moment it's the worst that she can imagine happening to her?! The answer is simple. She hasn't consented to it. It's not a decision he can make alone, and neither of them can make in the middle of the heat.

"Please, please, John, don't! We talked about it! Please..."

"You will change your mind as soon as it happens..." he promises her, and she screams in panic. And then he jerks his hips back, his cock roughly pulled out of her, and she hollers in immense pain, because it feels as if the knot tore something inside her.

He flips her on her stomach, and she flails.

"No, no, I don't want to! No! Stop!"

His other hand is pressed into her hip, to hold her in place, and in a moment he will low his mouth onto her, biting into her, his saliva will rush into her blood, and they will be bonded for life.

"John, please no! I'll hate you! I'll hate you if you do it! Don't you dare!" Somehow she switches from terrified to enraged, and her voice is gaining force. "You know me! I won't be your bitch! As soon as you let me go I'll crack your skull! Alpha or not, I'll kick you out of my flat, and you will never see me again. Don't fuck with me, Thorington! I'll fucking arse you up!"

He stops moving, and all Wren can hear is both of them breathing raggedly. And then the hand, crushing her pelvis, twitched.

"Oh god..." he breathes out, and then he releases her, and pushes away from her on the bed. Her wrists hurt, and her whole body feels broken and violated. "God… What… How did this happen?" He sounds lost, and scared, and so uncertain, that Wren pushes herself to lift her head. His skin is ashen grey, and his eyes are widened in terror. He's looking at her as if she is a bloodied corpse of his murder victim. "God, Wren..."

She rushed to him and slaps him across the face. He doesn't even try to shield himself. Wren guesses, rage can suppress heat as well. At the moment the last thing she want is for him to stick his cock into her. She slaps him again, over another side of his face, and his head jerks passively from the force of her blow.

"How dare you?! Who gave you the right?! You cunt! Fuck you!" She's screaming at him, shriekily and incoherently, and more hits rain on him, but he's not protecting himself. She then jumps off the bed and grabs the covers, pulls them off, and wraps in them. She wonders where her phone is. She needs to run. She needs to leave! To grab her phone, call a cab, and be out of here as soon as possible.

She's almost out of the door when she turns around and looks at him.

He's sitting on the bed, shaking, his lips white, and tears running down his cheeks. Sharp pain blooms under her ribs, and she gasps. She's never seen a man cry. She's never seen an Alpha cry. She's never seen John cry. And she didn't know he could.

Why is she still standing here? There is danger in this room, and she needs to run.

"John?"

"I don't know how it happened… I was completely certain that what I was saying..." His voice breaks. "That I was right… That it was right… It seemed simple, and right… How is that possible, Wren?"

He lifts his eyes at her, and they are vulnerable, and human, and short-sighted, and so very John that she takes a small step towards him. Or maybe it's Omega waking up in her.

"What do you think now?" she asks carefully, and he shakes his head.

"Don't ask me… I don't know… I doubt my own mind right now… How is this fucking natural? It's like all possible drugs, mixed together…" He rubs his face with his palms, and she heard him sniffle loudly. "It's a fucking nightmare."

She realises that she's cold and she needs to get dressed. She's still scared to come near him, and the wardrobe is on the other side of the room. She remembers there is a pair of socks in the bathroom, and she takes the door handle.

"Wren, please!" he calls after her, loudly, and she jolts. "Please… Let's talk this through..." She throws him a disbelieving look. "Please, I know you have every right to leave me now, but please… I'll go home, take more sups, and maybe we can… talk?" His hand is lifted in the air in a pleading gesture.

"You can't take any more sups. You'll OD. You need to go the hospital."

"OK." She can see cogs swirling in his mind quickly. "Let's do this. I'll go now, and once the heat is over you will ring me. OK? Please?" He climbs off the bed, and she jumps away from him.

"OK, OK, I'm not coming close. Wren, please..." He blindly picks up his clothes from the floor. "God, Wren, I'm so sorry! It was like a drug. I will never let it happen again. There are prescriptive sups, turn off Alpha biology completely... So, just please… one call, OK? Whenever you feel ready. Just one call?"

She's watching him cautiously, and he hurriedly pulls on his underwear.

"Wren, please… Don't answer me now, you're not on sups, and you've just been assaulted, but give it a thought… I am so very sorry..." His face twists in a pained, remorseful grimace, and he's pulling on his denim. And then he freezes, staring at her legs.

"Fucking..." he rasps out, and then emits a long string of swearings. "Wren, you're bleeding..."

She looks down. There is indeed a blood streak on her leg.

"Wren, let me call the doctor." She sees him pull out a mobile from his pocket. "I won't come closer, and you should go to the bathroom, but please let me call you an ambulance."

"Wait here, I'll go check. And don't call anybody..." She's a doctor after all, and the last thing she needs in her medical record is an attempted rape by an Alpha. Whatever the law states now, it's still considered an Omega's fault. Sadly, 'she was asking for it' is still a thing. And even more so, 'a bond rape' is still only rarely punished by law. If one is in relationship with an Alpha, one is sort of not encouraged to complain if something hurts after mating.

She locks the door to the bathroom and quickly looks. It seems to be just a small bruise. One of the labia is sensitive, from when he pulled out sharply. Wren quickly washes with the intimate soap and manually examines herself. It's already healing. If anything, her Omega biology protected her from real damage. She was wet, and there was enough blood drawn to the tissues there.

She puts on the socks she had on a chair in the bathroom, and she finds her phone. She's clenching it in her hand, but for some reason she isn't dialing.

* * *

He's still standing in the middle of the room, in exactly the position she ordered him to stay. A hysterical joke about an Alpha taking orders pops in her head.

"Wren, how bad is it?" His face is desperate. "How badly are you hurt?"

 _ **To be continued...**_

* * *

 **Please, give a chance to my new website** **rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca** **. It is a fantasy world, built around my webseries** _ **Ani**_ **. The site will have chapters of the story, updated frequently, and my art. You can sign up for a newsletter on the main page to be notified of news and updates.**

 **The synopsys of** _ **Ani**_ **might seem familiar for the readers of _Me Without You_ , and I hope if you join the party, we all can enjoy the play on the plot and the characters I'm creating :)**

 **Synopsys:**

The war has been raging through the lands to the South of the Great Sea for the last ten years; but it is over, and the ships of the Westerners return to their islands, carrying with them the dead body of their warlord, King Einar. He had fallen in the last battle, protecting Lindrand, the port lying in the heart of the trade of the Known Lands.

Ani, a young healer, has only seen him once, at the beginning of her service in the infirmary where he found his end. Once he starts visiting her dreams, she is placed before a choice. She can venture in a long and perilous journey through the Great Islands and the Known Lands to find a way to help him to pass into the Mists of the Forefathers, the mythical haven where, according to the Westerners, only the warriors fallen in battle are given passage to. Or, Ani can stay in Lindrand and build a peaceful and uneventful life that she has always dreamt about.

 _Ani_ is the first book in the King Einar Series, and it is the story of a young woman who has no choice but to find strength and courage to face the world ruled by men and magic.

* * *

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Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

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* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	7. Second Time

"I'm OK. I don't need to go to a MIU or anything..." He's fully dressed now, and his hands are stuffed deeply in his denim pockets. He's still large and terrifying. The adrenaline is going down, and the heat symptoms are back. She purposefully clenches inside muscles, through pain, to remind herself what has just happened.

"Wren, I should go, because we both will be affected soon... but I don't want to leave you alone, if you're hurt..."

"I'll be fine. I'll ring Thea..." His face is dark and tense, and he nods.

He walks quickly to the door, and she's not following, her hands in tight fists, her feet cold on the floor, even in the socks. She put on her robe, and she's shaking.

"Please, give it a thought… to ring me?" he calls from the hall. She doesn't answer, and the entrance door closes softly.

She goes to lock it and sees her keys on the table by the door. She gave him a copy two months ago.

She calls Thea, and together they go to a clinic. Wren gets her first ever shot of sups, and Thea nurses her through two days of adaptation period. The three days she has left of her med leave, Wren reads, cleans her flat, shops, and draws.

* * *

After she's back to work and school, it takes her a month to process what has happened. The processing involves a lot of overthinking in her kitchen, insomnia, one pub bender, and a lot of crying.

The decision to call him comes as if out of nowhere, but she knows herself. That's her thing. When she's sure, she's sure. Choosing the time and deciding what to say is quite another pickle altogether. It takes another week of agonising and ringing Thea at ungodly hours to once again talk about.

"Listen, Leary, if you don't fucking pick up this mobile now and ring him, I will!" Thea finally loses her bottle, at eight o'clock on a Friday. "We've talked through every bloody scenario, involving his new doxy picking up the phone while he's eating her out. So do it now, and stop fretting!"

Thea hangs, up, and Wren decides that it surely can't get worse than that.

* * *

"Hello?" She forgot what he sounds like. And what his voice does to her. She's sitting, frozen, her knees pulled to her nose, on the uncomfortable hard chair in her kitchen. "Wren?"

"Hi..." Somehow all the smooth smart sentences she has come up are gone from her noggin. She presses her forehead to the knees. They are especially bony these days. She's lost a disgusting amount of weight over this month.

He's quiet, and that irritates her enough to make her try to talk.

"I'm ringing you up… I gave it a thought, like you asked, and I am… ringing you up..."

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

"Thank you." His tone is calm. Is it cold? Is it haughty? Is it disdainful? Wren can't tell. "How are you?"

"I'm OK..." Do they have nothing to talk about?

"So..." So, what, John? "Are you ringing me up to tell me it's over, or you're giving me one more chance?"

"Do you want one more chance?" she blurts out, and then bites her tongue.

"Yes, I do." Tired, that's what he sounds like. He sounds tired.

"I… I want us to… be together. To stay together. I thought a lot about it, and what happened..." He's still silent. "And I don't know how _you_ feel about it..."

"I feel like shite," he interrupts, and then clears his throat. "Sorry. Wren, can we just… meet up? Go out, have dinner… Talk..."

"Yeah… yes, John, I'd like that a lot.

* * *

It's endlessly awkward, and after each date she feels drained. It takes two dates for him to smile for the first time. It takes her three to laugh at his joke. It takes five dates for him to touch her, after she takes his hand and pulls him closer. The embrace is soft, and it's only one arm that wraps around her. It takes six for her to finally lose patience and kiss him. They are waiting for their table in a small Italian place they used to go to a lot, and she rises on tiptoes and gently places her hand at the back of his neck. He tenses immediately, and she has to make a noticeable effort to make him bend a bit. She kisses him, he doesn't kiss her back. She winces away, her cheeks burning, and he looks guilty. He then brushes his hand to her cheek, and his lips are pressed to her. It is the most asexual kiss she's had since seventh grade. She greedily breathes in, catching the smell of his skin, and then he's saved by their maître.

It takes six dates for her to realise something is wrong. They're in his car, on a red light. He's drumming his long fingers to the wheel. He's always impatient in traffic. They're on their way to some contemporary play, and Wren's knees in stockings are cold between the open sides of her coat.

"John, are you… ill?" she asks, and he throws her a quick side glance.

"Sorry?" His tone is dull. To think of it, it is almost always dull these days. She thought it's guilt, and the awkwardness of seeing each other again, but it's more than that.

"You're… sort of quiet. And subdued. And you smell strange." The last phrase make her squeeze her knees. So far, they managed to avoid any physicality - and mentioning it for that matter.

"I'm on sups, Wren. I'm still not used to them… It'll even out."

She wonders how she could have been so blind. He's thinned, the skin seems drier, paper like, the eyes lack their usual brilliance.

"But… Are you… are they the monthly injections?" she asks in shock. Those are brutal. They fully suppress Alpha biology. Those Alpha who want to justify never taking them compare the resulting effect to lobotomy. Or castration.

"Yeah…" His eyes are fixed on the road. The light switches, and they start moving. She's quiet on her seat.

"Why? Because… because of what happened?"

"Of course, because of what happened." The slight irritation in his voice is the most outward emotion he has demonstrated since she rang him up.

"But it wasn't your fault…" she starts in a small voice, and he suddenly slams his foot into the brake, the car whirs, and they are clumsily parked near a fire hydrant. She's pressing her back into the seat. How hasn't she noticed that she had none of the Omega emotions around him?! It was painfully awkward, but it was all just… human.

"Wren… it was exactly my fault." His voice is raspy. "Don't… don't give me any of that Omega rubbish here. I raped you, I hurt you, I almost forced you into a life bond. You're only here because I'm your Alpha, but that will wear out too, once my system fully processes the drugs." He's snarling through his teeth, and it's like the shadow of the old John. "You gave me a chance, and I'm grateful. But please don't make excuses for me…"

"You weren't in control…" she whispers

"You were!" he barks, and his hands fist around the wheel. "You stayed sober. What kind of a fucking person am I then? What kind of an Alpha?.."

"We weren't ready… We were unprepared, you weren't supposed to be there… "

"I raped you," he slowly grits through his teeth, each word separately, and looks at her for the first time. His eyes are burning behind his stylish glasses, still very human, and surprisingly still intimidating. And also vulnerable, and pained, and she wants to move closer, and touch him, and hug him, and she suddenly clearly sees that she can't, because he won't allow her, because he doesn't think he deserves it.

"John..."

"The only reason why you've forgiven me and why you're here is that you're an Omega. And you can't say 'no.' And because I'm selfish, and couldn't give you up..." His throat bobs, and muscles knot on the jaw.

"The only reason I'm here is because I love you. And I'm not sure I've forgiven you." Her voice is quiet but firm, and he blinks and then gives her a long studying look. She's frowning, not sure how to say it right. "But I know I want to try… I want to give us another chance and try to fix it… I might change my mind, or never forgive you, and then it'll be over. But I did call you, and I continue going out with you, am I not?"

He swallows with difficulty, and he's quiet, and he's probably trying to figure out whether she's telling the objective truth. Wren doubts it exists.

"And I don't want to go to the play. I think we should go to my place," she offers, and since none of the Omega genes of hers has any say at the moment, she sounds rather confident.

He starts the car and start slowly backing up.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Leary?" The corner of his lips curling up, just a tad, hardly noticeably. That's also painfully familiar. That's the John she misses. His eyes are still sad though.

"Is it working?" she asks, and he finally chuckles.

"Not really." His eyes are fixed on the road. They haven't turned around.

"Is it the sups? Do they..?" She frantically searches her memory for some information on the drugs.

"No, they don't make me impotent, if that's what you're asking. Just less interested in it."

Wren wriggles her fingers. And then she reminds herself that they've been together for a while, and she used to be comfortable around him. And then she immediately questions it. Has she ever been at ease around him? Has she ever been open and confident around him? She used to be an Omega in relationship with an Alpha whom she always considered out of her league. Somehow him not being Alpha isn't helping. He's still the successful, mind-blowingly attractive male. Maybe, their class isn't exactly the root of the problem. Maybe, the lack of communication is.

Wren gathers lungfuls of the fresh air in the car.

"Less interested than an average male, or less interested than you used to be? Because if it's the latter, we're still in a pretty good situation here." She hasn't delivered her lines with the perfect zest, but they were ballsy enough. He throws her a quick surprised look.

"I still want you," he answers slowly, clearly pretending to be very engaged into driving. "All the time. I'm just… scared."

"The same won't happen again," Wren says softly.

"No, it won't. But..." He shakes his head, and then he sighs, and turns into a back alley. The car is once again parked guaranteeing him a ticket, and he shuts the engine down and turns on the seat to face her.

"Wren…" His face is uncertain, and guilty. "I'm scared to touch you. When I see you, all I think about is what I did. And I'm scared it's all that you feel. Just the memories of it. And I thought it would be easier. And sups or not, I'm still worried that you'll leave, and I have these urges... And that scares me too, because where the fuck is this possessiveness coming from if I did everything possible to turn the fucking Alpha off?" His nostrils flare, and he's staring at his hands on his lap.

"Maybe you're just that kind of bloke… Possessive, a wee bit insecure, and overcompensating..." Her unfortunate inability to keep her gob shut when she's nervous finally manifests. It's the darkness of the alley, and the strange serenity of being separated from the world outside.

He lifts his face and looks at her.

"I don't trust myself," he mutters, and she nods.

She'd like to say that she trusts him, or agree that neither does she, but she isn't sure in either.

They are quiet, and then she just leans and kisses him. Maybe, she just doesn't want to talk.

* * *

They go to her place, and she doesn't turn on the light, because neither of them needs any reminders, and they go to her bedroom. They make love, and it's passionate, and wonderful, and he was right - there are no performance issues. She falls asleep in his arms, and wakes up alone. In the morning she finds him in the kitchen making breakfast.

It takes her two more nights with him to arrive at the decision.

She once again wakes up alone - he never seems to be in bed in the mornings - and she plods to the kitchen. He's reading a paper, glasses low on the elegant bridge of his nose, and he looks at her over them.

"Can you sleep at all?" she asks. She's leaning on the doorframe, she's so exhausted by the uncertainty she feels like it's her who doesn't get another kip.

"I do fall asleep," he answers softly. "I think I'm just scared to lose control, so I wake up..."

"And?"

"And you have a horrible li-lo." He gives her a sad smile.

She heavily sits on the other chair.

"It's not working, John." She's practised her lines the night before, but just couldn't make herself say them. They had dinner, watched a film, and made love four times. She now feels guilty for being so blissfully happy to fall asleep pressed to his scorching body.

He nods. She expected at least one objection. He puts the paper down and takes off the glasses. There are small red spots where the pads were. She knows he thinks she's breaking it off, and now she knows she assumed right - he doesn't think he has the right to even try to convince her to reconsider. She loves him too much to stretch this torture.

"I'm not breaking up with you. I'm saying you being on sups isn't working. I can't ask you to continue it." He quickly jerks his face up. There is a moment of relief, but then he presses his lips together in a distressed line. She starts talking before he decides to argue. "I know what you'll say. That I didn't ask you to, that you decided yourself. OK, yes… but I'm now asking you to stop." She carefully inhales and continues, "You're punishing yourself. You're trying to keep me safe. And I appreciate it. But it's not worth it. And it's not fair. And... If that's what you think you need to do to be with me, then you shouldn't be with me."

"Wren..." He shifts on a chair, maybe to move closer.

"John, I've… made up my mind. Either you go off sups, and we try to build something, and fix it, and be ourselves… Or I'm leaving. Because I just don't want… I'm bad for you. Now, I'm bad for you..." Her voice breaks, but she clenches her jaws. She can't let herself cry now. It's too important, she can't fall apart now. She jerks her chin up and meets his eyes. "I want you back. I want John back. My John. I want… my Alpha back."

He rushes ahead, and grabs her, and she claws at him, and they fall on the floor, and fuck again and again, until every muscle in their bodies hurts, and no thoughts are left in their heads.

* * *

It takes him two weeks to detox. Not much changes after that. They are still a bit too cautious around each other, but they still go out, and go to either of their places. The lovemaking Wren missed - and hadn't realised she did - is back, and laughing in the morning while sharing the paper, and sitting on his sofa, their limbs intertwined, watching _Doctor Who_. There's a bit less of her Omega insecurities, maybe because he's watching his words and attitudes more, maybe because he's more vocal about how much he loves her and wants to be together. She's less busy at the hospital, she somehow managed to ace her tests even with this whole aggro, and they go for walks, and once to an indoors skating rink. He teaches her to skate, but she suspects it's all about her in a tight outfit, and him pretending to support her while sliding his scorching palms over her body. She isn't sure who's having more fun here.

And then August comes, and it's the heat time again. They both know it, and the new Wren knows they need to talk about it. She is also sure that the new John will.

They are in her kitchen, he's cooked pasta. She wearing the top of a pyjama set, he's wearing the bottoms. That's a wonderful arrangement they came up with a week ago. He bought the new set but it never got to his place. They decided she should try it on, 'in case it fits,' she paraded it in front of him, he wanted to make sure it was 'the right size,' they had a lot of fun with that on the floor and then against the wall, and it now resides in her bed.

"There's a week left till the next heat," she mumbles, and he freezes, his back to her. "I've talked to some people… Well, I consulted specialists, to be precise..."

He isn't turning, and his hands with salad servers are mid-air.

"What specialists? Pharmacists?"

"Therapists..." She clears her throat, and he turns around. His face is dark and guarded. She twirls an arugula leaf in her fingers.

"You went for therapy?" he asks grimly. "And I was wondering how you're taking it so well..." Her eyes fly up to his face.

"What 'it?'"

"You've been very calm. And trusting. There seemed to be no flashbacks… in bed…" he says. He's leaning his back onto her titchy counter, so low that it's his lower back that is pressed to it. Everything in her flat is too small for him.

"I'm an Omega. We have a more flexible psyche as well. And yes, I went for a few sessions." She chews at her bottom lip. "But that's not the point. I consulted a specialist on sharing my heat with you, and she said..."

"No." His tone is grave and final. "We aren't doing it." Wren expected this, and she sighs.

"John, she explained to me..."

"Wren, I don't want to know. I'm not risking it again. The next time, you're locking this door, and I'm staying home, locked up from outside, and on sups."

"John! That's just daft!" She claps her hand to the table in exasperation. "You don't need sups, just don't come!"

"That didn't stop me last time!" He's raising his voice as well. "I shouldn't have come, and I did!"

"Exactly! That's what my therapist said. We didn't enter the heat together, and then at different stages either of us was medicated. It arsed it all up. We can do it, John! We just have to be smarter this time!"

"Wren, we don't need this, don't you see?" He flexes his shoulders, and she can see muscles roll on his jaw. "We are only getting back to normal, and isn't it enough?"

"It's not enough for me!" she as much as yells, and they both still, staring at each other. She jumps on her feet and rushes to him.

She presses into his body, just the thin fabric of the PJ top separating her from his hot skin. He's rigid, and she hides her face into his chest.

"I've given it a lot of thought. Alpha and Omega is what we are. And I know what I said before, but although it all went so horrible, I still felt it… That we want… we crave to be together like this as well. See, John, I'm sober now." She wraps her arms around his middle, and lifts her face to meet his eyes. "And I love you. And I want it. I want to mate with you..."

"Wren, no… I lost control then. It might happen again…" He's shaking his head, and she notes he still hasn't hugged her back.

"Did you have the same with other Omegas? Remember, you told me of them..."

"Wren, it was different. There were no feelings involved. I never wanted anything more than sex from them, just mating..."

"But have you lost control then? At least once?" Wren insists, pressing the questions the therapist told her to ask.

"No..." he whispers, and finally pulls her close, in the circle of his arms. "It never happened then… There was just the Alpha hunger, to dominate, and to… fuck. Nothing else… With you it was… too much. It was like all possible drugs mixed together."

"It was because when you came, you were on sups. Your body didn't adapt. And then I was, and we had a row, remember? So, there was adrenaline in your blood, and then my hormonal levels jumped up, after the sups stopped working… We created that mess ourselves." She strokes his back, the taut muscles along the spine. "We will be smarter this time..." One weak Omega doubt stirs. "If you want, of course..."

He's looking down at her, and then his eyes warm up. He leans in, into a tender, passionate kiss, and his hands cup her jaw, and the thumbs stroke her cheeks.

"More than anything, Wrennie…" His whisper caresses her lips. "More than anything..."

Her head is spinning, she is so in love and wants him so much, that it hurts.

"That was such a cheap line, Thorington..." she mumbles, but her voice is breathy, betraying how much his daft line worked.

"That's all I have for you, love. You want the big bad Alpha, you'll have to tolerate the sappiness." His eyes are laughing, and she jumps up and hangs on his neck. His palms readily pick up her bottom, and he steps forwards letting her wrap her legs around his waist.

"I'll survive." Wren rolls her eyes in fake exasperation, and then places a long lick up the tendons of his neck, enjoying every millimeter of it. "And now a quickie before dinner, please."

He guffaws and marches to the bedroom.

* * *

 **To be continued... (The next chapter posted)**


	8. Together

The day her heat is supposed to start, he comes to her flat with a bag, with whatever he might need in the next five days. It's an early morning, but she was so jittery that she got up in an ungodly hour and took a shower. She's changed her clothes five times by now, her outfits ranging from sexy black lingerie and a dress that would clearly be too much even for a dinner at a fancy restaurant, to denim shorts and a tee. She's now stuffed all those clothes back in the wardrobe, finally choosing comfortable harem trousers, and a soft blouse. She's barefoot, but at least she's more or less OK with what's going on with her hair. It - for once - lay in nice curls, and she picked them up in a comfortable loose ponytail.

She starts laughing when he steps into her tiny flat. He's wearing similar soft linen trousers, and a wide, sort of flowy tee, that outlines his upper arms and falls just the right way on his chest. If Wren were asked to choose clothes she's need to feel the immediate desire to jump his bones, this shirt and the trousers - that hugged his buttocks so perfectly when he bent down to put his bag down - would be her first choice. She's still giggling, when he steps to her and scoops her in his arms. After snogging all sense out of her, he raspily asks, "What's so funny?"

"We look like we are going to a boot camp. Or for a hot yoga class."

"There will be a lot of physical activity..." He wiggles his eyebrows.

He might be trying to lightly joke, but she can sense the tension hidden under his cocky attitude.

"Isn't there always with us? You managed to get me off in a car wash two weeks ago."

He is now walking to the kitchen. She's comfortably nested, bum supported by his hands, legs around him, her fingers already running the beard. She likes the funny fuzzy feeling of the coarse whiskers under her thumbs.

"You're ridiculously easy to get off." The fingers of his right hand squeeze her hip, and she squirms on his left palm. "And it wasn't my fault, you smelled so nice." He twists his head and sticks his nose under her jaw, and then nuzzles along it, and onto the sensitive skin behind the ear. "Definitely nice..."

He puts her down on a chair and starts making tea. She's noticed a box from a very nice French bakery he also left in the hall. Judging by the aroma, there're his favorite chocolate croissants inside, and she doesn't doubt she'll find her raspberry clafoutis there too.

"Should I get the sweets?"

"How are you feeling?" They speak at the same time, and he turns to her from the kettle.

"I'm fine. All the nasty pre-heat symptoms present," she announces in a slightly forced cheery tone. A week ago they agreed to both read up on heat and mating more. He nods, and apparently waits for her to elaborate. "Well, I feel ugly… And fat, which is absurd… I want to clean my flat, the third time in the last 24 hours, and for breakfast I had a bowl of popcorn and five chocolate crepes, and I don't even like chocolate. And I'm randy as hell."

"You look great. You're never ugly, but yeah, the tits are bigger." He gives her a very sexy lopsided smirk, and she pulls the collar of the shirt and peeks in.

"Really?" She sounds hopeful. She's studying the view down there, but she'd say they are the same pathetic tidbits.

He chuckles and goes to the hall for the box. Yes, Wren definitely approves of the trousers.

"How much longer do you think?" he calls from the hall.

"Hard to tell. I usually try to ignore the symptoms for as long as possible, so I'm not sure..."

He still isn't back, and Wren wonders if the big bad Alpha is panicking and breathing into a paper bag there. The mental image makes her snort loudly. Unlike him - and she can just feel tension and caution radiate from him - she's giggly, excited, and just as she said, very randy. And she needs to pee. All the time. Wren sighs and plods to the washroom.

She was right. He is indeed standing in the middle of the parlour, the box in his hand, eyes glassy. He's not hyperventilate, but she'd say 'freaked out' is the most adequate description of his look.

"John?"

"Did you take the shot? Do we have the jets? Where are they?" He twists his head as if expecting to see the jets scattered on the shelf with her sunglasses and keys.

She steps closer and rubs his upper arms.

"I took the contraceptives. And we have both your and my sups in the kitchen cabinet, just like we discussed. John, we've established the protocol in case of emergency, and I am confident everything is fine." He inhales deeply; the chest rises, making Wren slightly dizzy. "And I think we should go have tea before I've completely lost it and started pulling at these convenient strings on your trousers."

He blinks and then looks down at the strings. And then he whips his head and stares at her.

"Has it started?" Somehow she finds his terrified expression the most hilarious thing.

"If you're asking whether I'm having inappropriate thoughts about you, then yes." The humour seems to be wasted on him at the moment. "John, I'm feeling fine. I just need to go to the loo, and then I want tea. Please?"

He shakes off his stupour, nods, and goes back to the kitchen. She snorts again, and shakes her head. So far, so good.

* * *

She thinks she really should have paid more attention to her heats before, but it has always been only her business, and nothing but a nuisance. She's sipping her Earl Grey, finishing the second slice of the clafoutis, when suddenly a shudder runs through her body. She squeezes her knees, and there is a sweet, hungry spasm of muscles inside. She looks up at him, and see that the knuckles of his hand, clenched around the handle of the mug, are white.

"I think it's started..." she whispers, and he nods.

"About ten minutes ago your smell changed." His voice is coarse.

"John!" she hisses at him, but then remembered to soften her tone. It's not going to be easy for either of them, she reminds herself. "We need to be open about it. Don't hide anything. Tell me of any changes."

"You smell good… More like..." He clears his throat loudly.

"Sex?" she offers, still trying to keep her tone light.

"Yes. And the smell is stronger." He takes a large gulp of tea.

"Do I look different too?" She remembers he mentioned before - when it still hadn't turned into the nightmare - that he thought Omegas in heat were beautiful. Then, for a second, she hoped that she was as well.

"You are… softer. There's a glow. And the lips are brighter." His eyes are roaming her face, and she feels tingly, and blush spills on her cheeks. "You're gorgeous..."

"I just feel a bit hot… And sort of restless… But it's not even stage one yet." She suddenly remembers that she didn't start her app, and quickly wonders where her mobile is. And then she remembers she won't need it this time.

"Do you want to stay here for a bit more?" He's clearly trying to avoid pressuring her, but she thinks that maybe she is ready to up the stakes already. He isn't the only one gathering lungfuls of another's moreish fragrance.

She gets up and stretches her hand to him.

"Let's go, Thorington."

* * *

She's leading him through her flat, it's hardly any distance of course, but in the doors of her bedroom he gently pulls, and twirls her, and she's pressed flush into him.

"Do you want it, Wren?"

She pushes her hands under the hem of his shirt, on the taut muscular sides, on the hot skin, and then rubs her temple to him, the ear, and the cheekbone, feeling probably like a cat does. There is some sort of mild, but already buzzing craving spilling through her whole body.

"John, it's not like we go to that bedroom, and there is no way back..." she murmurs.

"That's not the point..." he softly interrupts, and she finally understands.

"Yes, John, I want to be your mate." She lifts her face, and he catches her mouth. The kiss is deep and for now not rushed, and she relaxes, as if some tight string uncoils inside, and immediately arousal intensifies.

She presses to him, and feels his cock already strain in the trousers.

"Wren, you're… You feel differently… It's getting worse every second..." he rasps out, and lifts her face to him, one hand under her chin. "Wren..."

She hums agreeing, and then suddenly laughs. It's a small, merry laugh.

"It's getting better, not worse..." She hooks a finger to the collar of his tee and starts walking backwards, pulling him after her.

She doesn't know what he sees in her right now, but he looks absolutely fucking ravishing. The eyes are bright, lips wet and bright pink, frantic red spots burning on his cheekbones. There is a short pang of apprehension - a flash of the memory of how he was looming over her - and just as the therapist taught her she doesn't shy away from the image. She looks at the man in front of her, attentively, comparing with the memory, noting the differences. She also checks her own state.

The main difference with the last time is that they are attuned, they are on the same wave, their biology is feeding off another, hormones they breathe in and exchange through saliva self-regulate and balance each other.

The bed cuts her down under her knee, and she falls down, clumsily. It's somehow still fun, and she snorts. He looms over her, supporting himself on one straight arm.

"Wrennie..." He bends down and kisses her neck. "Wrennie, my Wrennie..."

Since the last time he hasn't called her "little one" even once. She guesses he remembers as much. There hasn't been any of his possessive 'mine' or 'my Omega' either, which had been pretty common before that night.

"Are you OK?" he asks, his voice still tense. She realises he's scrutinising her face, since she's just frozen mid making out session. She meets his eyes and smiles.

"Yes… I'm ace…" She means it.

She picks up the hem of his shirt, pulls, he helps, and it flies on the floor. He returns in the previous position, not weighing on her, one arm straight, the second hand softly stroking her side.

"I'm not scared, John… Please..." She catches the note of Omega submissiveness in her voice, pleading, but it somehow doesn't bother her. She's already wet, and all her body feels overheated, and as if liquid. She shifts her legs, spreads her knees wide, inviting him to stand between them.

He does, and then he kneels.

His hands slide under her blouse, onto her waist, and the skin covers in goosebumps.

"Wrennie, let me… Let me taste you..." The voice is low, velvet, like chocolate mousse, and she can feel blood throb between her legs.

"Yes... please..."

It is perfect. It feels perfect. It is exactly what she wants right now - his fingers picking up the waist of her trousers, him kissing every inch of skin that appears from under the sliding off clobber, a row of hot little kisses down her legs. He swirls his tongue on her knee, and then another, and the scorching palms lie on them. He pushes them apart, and she feels her body readily comply.

He covers her with his mouth, his movements are slow, deliberate, and she wonders if he's holding back, and then his tongue slips inside, and he draws a circle, as if tasting all walls. She groans and arches on the bed, pushing her knees even wider.

"More… Please, more..." she moans out.

He takes his lips and tongue off her, and she emits a begging mewl. And then his strong fingers find hers on the bed, and he picks up her hand, and for a second she isn't sure what he's doing, and he brings her fingers onto the back of his head.

It takes her a second to realise what he means, and then she pushes her fingers deep into the heavy glossy locks, destroying his ponytail, and she pressed down. His mouth is on her again, and she lets go of any inhibitions, and grabs handful of his dark waves, and then the second hand joins, and she rubs herself to him at the same time, feeling the beard, and the tongue, and then even teeth, and she comes with a loud scream.

The bed keels, she peeks. He's wiping his face to the sheet, and it's both fucking hot, he's very animalistic at the moment, and funny, and she makes some small indistinct noise.

He's still on his knees, and he starts kissing her thighs, hands stroking, and there is a demanding cadence to his movements, but he's still clearly asking. She appreciates the restraint, but she's no less turned on than he is. And one climax, as ace as it was, just isn't going to cover it.

"Wow, an Alpha on his knees…" Her voice is criminally low. He presses an open mouth kiss to her thigh, on the inside, sending sweet shiver into her fanny, his hand wrapped around the ankle. "Heel, boy?" She giggles, and pushes the other foot towards his cock. She doesn't miss the target and brushes the instep to the bulge in his trousers just the right way. He growls and moves the foot away.

"Don't push me, Wren..." He's snarling, and lifts his eyes at her. There's a second when she tenses, but then she sees his eyes are laughing. They are burning, randy, but still sane. Just like her. He feels just what she does. It's amazing, it's a fucking miracle, and it's bloody supposed to be like that. "I haven't enjoyed my meal yet..." He licks his lips, and she falls back on the bed.

The second time, there are fingers. First, the long index one, curled up just the right way, stroking the spot inside, and when she's starting to shake and gasping for air, he softly pushes the middle one together with the index one inside. The orgasm makes her thrash on the sheets, and chant his name, and even her toes are tingling. The fingers are still inside, and he's slowly pushing in and pulling out, scissoring them, but not touching the clit. She realises he's stretching her.

It would have felt a tad too medical, if he wasn't murmuring.

"Oh my Wrennie..." His lips are on her hipbone, tender, and loving. "My sweet girl… So sweet…"

She decides it's time to set the game afoot. She isn't sure where the pun came from, but she carefully lifts her foot and runs the toes along his cock. He groans, and once again grabs her ankle.

"Don't..." He sounds as if his head were in a barrel of sorts. A male voice just doesn't get lower than that. That's the Alpha tone. She jerks the foot back instinctively, but then she rises on her elbows.

"I think we should move..." She pats the bed with her palm, and he looks at her again.

"We need more time, Wren… You're not fully in heat yet, and you need stretching."

She gathers he took the idea of research seriously. And he's right. She's craving him, but it's not the mindless arousal of stage two. She's also OK for the next few minutes, she's just come.

"Then you lie down… Let's switch," she offers. He was kissing her stomach, bunching up her shirt, and he stop. She can feel his hot breath on her skin.

"Wren..."

"You'll feel a bit better..." she brings up an argument. Being honest, she just really wants to suck him off. She loves it. She hated it with others, but with him it's ace. She can come from doing it. Maybe, it's all because he never treats it like she owes it to him. "And you know how it turns me on..."

He gets up, and her mouth waters from the view of the tenting trousers. He's looking down at her, and that's her Alpha. The posture, the dominating, imposing height, the wide torso, thick black and silver hair on the chest, going down the stomach in a wide strip… Human love mixes with Omega adoration in her blood, and she slips on the floor on her knees.

"I should lie down..." he rasps out, already untying the strings on the trousers. "Less chance to lose control..."

The image this produces in her mind makes her swallow the spit that fills her mouth. Him grabbing handful of her hair, roughly jerking her head towards him, shoving the cock down her throat, while she gags, and gasps for air… She can feel her wetness on her heels, and she squirms.

He pushes the trousers and pants down, and moves towards the bed.

"Please, don't..." she whimpers, and he throws her a confused look. "Don't lie down..."

He studies her eyes, and then he sits on the bed and plants his feet firmly on the floor, his knees spread wide. She eagerly moves towards him.

"Wren..." He softly picks up her chin, and she looks at him, licking her lips. She can smell his arousal and his skin in the air. "There are five days in front of us… We'll have time for anything and everything. Let's not rush it… And we need to prepare you now. Not me..."

She nods, hardly understanding what he says, and then she carefully places her hand on his hips, moves closer, and finally her tongue slides on his cock. It's thick, and hot, and smooth, and she tastes the precum. She licks the head, gathering the liquid, and then withdraws for a second to savour the taste. He's sitting with his eyes closed, his arms straight behind him, supporting him.

She knows what he likes. She's always watched his reactions carefully, but she's also an Omega. No matter how much she fights her biology, she's attuned to an Alpha she fucks with.

Long deep moves are his favourite at the beginning. She lets him slide in, caressing the underside with her tongue, pausing at the end, letting him feel that the tip touches the back wall of her throat, and then she gently moves back, lips in a tight ring around him. She's keeping the rhythm, making sure it doesn't feel mechanical. Her fanny is pulsating, and at some point she lets herself have more fun. She firmly wraps her hand around her base, and starts licking and sucking the head, running the tip of her tongue around the ridge occasionally, and tonguing the hole at the end. And when he shifts, probably trying to stop her - it's too sensitive most likely - she once again slides him into her throat, with a loud greedy moan, because there is no sensation more satisfying for her at the moment than his thick cock filling her esophagus.

She speeds up, knowing very well that he will soon lose control. And just as she thought his hand lies at the back of her head, but he's not pushing, as always waiting for permission, and she hums showing he can. He fists his hand around her curls, and breaking her rhythm he pushes her in, her nose bumping into the thick curls at the base. She groans, choking, and almost coming, and she starts moving even faster, in the sweet anticipation of the next time, and then suddenly he makes a distressed noise and pulls the hair. She doesn't understand, and she still tries to move deeper, but he still is pulling, and it hurts, and she lets him go.

He's breathing loudly, his body shaking, and she wipes her mouth and her chin.

"Stop… Stop..." He drops back on the bed, and she's staring at his cock, wet with her saliva and his precum.

"But..." She frantically tries to understand what she was doing wrong. He makes a pained, growl like nose, and rubs his face with his hands.

"It'll help," she weakly offers. "And the knot would be smaller..." That is of course if he even wants to get a head from her. Something unpleasantly pulls in her stomach.

"Give me a jiffy… God, your fucking throat..." He's gritting his teeth, and then with sharp exhale he sits up and looks down at her. She presses her head down into her shoulders.

She's almost at stage two. She sees everything as if through some manky haze, and now she's cold and nausea is rising. All she can think of is that he doesn't want her.

Apparently, it shows on her face, because he bends down and grabs her under her arms, and pulls on his lap.

"Wrennie, Wrennie, listen to me. It was too good, OK? Too good..." He leans in and seeks her eyes. She swallows a knot in her throat. "God, your mouth..." He brushes his thumb to her bottom lip. "So good… I just knew, couple more minutes, and I'd fuck you. Just pushed you on your stomach and fucked you. And maybe even with the knot… So you needed to stop, love..." He is stroking her shoulders, and she starts warming up.

"Yeah?" Adrenaline is going down. And maybe she needs a bit more praising.

"Yeah." He smiles and kisses the tip of her nose. "And don't look so smug. You know you give great head. And these lips of yours… Fuck me..." He catches her mouth, and now she isn't just warm. Her skin is all flushed, and she wraps her arms around his neck.

* * *

He topples her on the bed, and pulls the tee off her. He fancies her tits, that she knows. They are very small, and he sucks the left one in his mouth completely. He then gently sucks on the nipple, making it stick out and grow even redder. She doesn't particularly like tit action, but there's a low rumbling noise somewhere in his chest that sounds like purring, and she lets him play. She is quickly distracted by his fingers that slide down her stomach. They are hovering over her fanny, and then the thumb presses onto the clit. Firmly, almost roughly. She squeals and squeezes her knees together.

The middle finger prods her, and of course she's so wet that eventually it slides inside smoothly. In a few seconds he's fucking her with three fingers, and she's hollering. It takes a bit longer that usual for her to come, she's oversensitive. But he switches angles, and then his tongue runs her folds, and she orgasms, arching her spine to the point of pain.

He moves up on the bed, and they wrap around each other. All her muscles feel tired, but she is surprised to notice that she's still randy. More so, as if without her will, her hips are slowly rocking into him.

"Wren..."

"I want more… John… I need more..." She's whining, her head swimming, and all she feels is hunger, and his warmth, and his smell, and love.

 _ **To be continued...**_


	9. Open Up

_**Dedicated to Neewa. Something to entertain you while you're waiting for "Better Than One" on JukePop on Thursday, dearest ;)**_

* * *

She rolls on her stomach, shamelessly lifting her hips off the sheet.

"Please, John.. please…" The mindlessness of stage one is full scale already, and all she wants it to feel him inside. "Please…" This is the Omega position, her cheek pressed to the bed, her hips open, neck vulnerable. She can only just remember they are not doing the life bond bite tonight.

She feels him move closer, and she squeezes her eyes tightly, not to scare what's happening away. She needs him to take her, to fuck her, to knot her.

His hands slide under her, cupping her tits, and she cries out in excruciating pleasure from the palms brushing at the nipples. The muscles in her buttocks and between her legs start to shake in anticipation. And suddenly he flips her on her back. Her eyes are still closed, so she can't understand what's happening, and then she feels his hot, immense weight between her legs.

"Wrennie, look… look at me..." He's whispering, and her eyes fly open. She's an Omega, there's no ability to say 'no' left in her. "We need… to do it… to shag before knotting..."

She's studying his face, without understanding a word he's saying.

"Wren, I'm worried… Just don't panic..."

She purposefully blinks several times, and then she susses out that he wants to have sex with her... but he doesn't. No knotting. Some sort of icy feeling spreads in her lower stomach. He doesn't want her. She doesn't deserve… She's just a shag…

"Wren, Wren, listen to me." It's the Alpha tone, commanding, leaving no room for doubt. "I want you, I will knot you. You're mine. But I want to have sex first, no knot. Because we both need to take it slow. And because I want you… just you..."

She's watching his face, somehow keeping the panic at bay. Maybe, because he told her to. Maybe, because there are tears in his eyes.

"I want you... just you..." he whispers, and she shifts her pelvis, opening her knees, letting him in.

His tip presses into her, and she moans, her mouth falls half-open, and if she wasn't an Omega, she'd lift her arse and catch the tip and push herself to get him in. As she sometimes does when not in heat.

"My Wrennie..." he murmurs, and slowly pushes in, his eyes closing, his face glowing with some soft and warm expression. He's savouring, he's savouring her, and Wren exhales, calming down.

He's large, and hot, and his cock stretches her walls, entering deeper and deeper, and she arches, with a coarse moan, opening her legs more and more, taking in more and more, and then he pushes his arms underneath her, and her shoulder blades are on his forearms, and he bends his back, and in one last slow thrust he's inside her.

They both groan loudly, and she comes, her body convulsing, again and again, in a sweet scorching wave, and wraps her arms and legs around him, feeling his body shaking.

He starts kissing her neck, and she drops her head back, half-conscious from how big the crisis was, and then his hand lies on her hip and he hikes up her leg. The angle changes, his hard cock shifts inside her, and she whines.

He starts fucking her, first in soft rocking movements, then deeper and rougher, quicker with each second, and she's losing grasp on what's happening. She's all raw emotion, and the physical sensations, of him taking what's his, making her body his, and she whines; it's exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

And then he moves again, changes the position, breaking the rhythm, and she softly moans, as if asking what he wants now.

"Wren..." His voice is raspy, and she opens her eyes.

He's rolled on his back, and she's on top of him. And she didn't notice.

"What..?" She feels lost and almost scared. She is an Omega. She can't be on top!

"Take it..." he whispers, and she looks at him confused. "Take what you want... " She vaguely remembers she likes this position. She feels awkward and incompetent right now, plastered on top of him, like fish on a sushi.

"John..." Her voice is small and uncertain. "I can't... I'm sorry… Please..."

"I'm your Alpha, Wren. You will listen to me," he states firmly, and she presses her head into her shoulders. "Sit up."

Her body jolts, and she slowly and clumsily moves, his cock still in her. She straddles him, and her arms defensively wrap around her chest, covering the tits.

"Wren, you like it on top. You like control. You're ballsy and cheeky and you're my Wren. I don't own you, but you're mine. That's my Wren. I want my Wren." His eyes are burning.

Her lips start shaking. She can't give it to him! He's very dominant right now, his eyebrows drawn together, face tense, frowning, and she wants to curl into a ball.

"I can't… I'm sorry..." She's pathetic. Weak, pitiful, useless Omega.

"It's not a test, Wren. It's not a game. I'm _asking_ ," he purposefully intonates. "I'm asking you to try. Please?"

Alphas don't say 'please.' Alphas don't ask. She frowns as well, scrutinising his face. Maybe, he's lying, Maybe, it is a test. And a thought of a game isn't that bad. She wants to play games. They've talked about trying some role playing couple times. Maybe, she can pretend? But his eyes are attentive, and earnest, and intent, and she's his Omega, she's attuned to him. He doesn't want a pretense. He wants her to try.

She exhales and slowly unfolds her arms. She gingerly puts her palms on his chest and shifts her hips trying to find her footing. His lips twitch, and he closes his eyes. His face is open, though. Nothing hidden.

She squeezes the muscles inside her, and he gasps softly, and she sees the soft bottom lip move, and something wakes up in her. She starts rising and lowering herself onto him, and she can feel breathing speed up underneath her.

That's it! That's the strange balance between giving pleasure and taking it. And the pleasure of taking while giving. A vague thought that she knows it, that that's what it's like when it's not heat, flashes through her mind, but the sensations are acute, and her body is burning already, and she starts moving sharper, rougher, riding him, and he starts making low noises, deep in his throat. His body arches on the sheets, and she straightens up, her hands fly to her hair, and her hips are snapping, swallowing his cock, and she twists her pelvis at the lowest point, making him grit his teeth, and snarl.

And then he grabs her thighs, sinking his curled fingers into her muscles, painfully, and he arches on the bed, growling loudly, and she feels his hot cum hit her insides, in spurts, again and again, filling her; and she arches as well, something like an orgasm, but not exactly rushing through her body. And then he jolts, and turns clumsily, rolling her underneath him, mashing her, her arm awkwardly pressed into the bed under his weight, and he thrusts his hips into her couple times, his cock still jerking in her, and that's enough for her to come again, screaming, and pulling his head to her, probably choking him around the neck, her sweaty forehead pressed to his temple.

After a few seconds, he hisses, and start uncoiling, shifting off her, and she notices that her arm hurts, and her legs cramped. He falls on his back, with a seemingly displeased groan, and she feels cold and somehow empty, although she feels his cum on the insides of her thighs.

She wants to touch him, to press into him, he's warm, and she isn't sure if he enjoyed it, and despite all these orgasms Omega obedience is still there, and she needs to know he's satisfied, but she can't ask.

He turns and picks her up and pulls her onto him again. SHe isn't sure she can do it right away, but she pulls herself together, and looks into his face searching guidance.

He smiles to her widely and opens his mouth, with a familiar expression. That's the 'John is going to make an innuendo joke' face. But then he sees her eyes, and his expression changes.

"Are you OK?" he asks, and she immediately nods. "Wren..."

"Are you... OK?" She decides she's allowed to return a question.

"Oh, shit. I forgot about the reassuring part. It was in the book. About how Omegas need reassurance after..." He softly smiles to her. "Do you need reassurance, Wren? Because usually you just run to a shower, and then demand another round, so you see, I'm sort of not used to this..." His eyes are warm and twinkling, and it's a bit easier to breathe.

"I don't… demand another time. I just… point out an opportunity..." Her tone is tentatively flirty, and he grins wider. "I do need reassurance. Maybe, just the first time…" Her strokes the back of her head, softly tangling his fingers into her hair. She shifts, and settles pressed into his side, her hand on his chest. They have a bit of time before the arousal is back. Maybe, she does want a bit of that 'aftercare' that all books on Alpha/Omega sexuality are talking about.

"Reassurance is a drug, did you know?" he says, and kisses her temple. "There were four chapters on the psychological health of an Omega. And only one on knotting. Somehow that just didn't fit..."

"Didn't fit?" She isn't sure what he's talking about.

"Well, it just talks about telling you how ace the fuck was, and so on, and so on, but it just doesn't feel like… you." He gives her a calm affectionate smile. "I sort of think you know it."

"I don't..." Wren pushes herself to speak. It's interesting. A small part of her can now look at what's happening - the smart part, the one that is normally asleep while hormones are in charge, but the one that makes her good at what she does, like making decisions in OR, the one that doesn't let her simply accept the role society gives her, the part that made the decision to stay with him, and mate with him. "I do _know,_ but I don't fully _feel_ it."

He is looking down at her, and then stretches his long arm, picks up the comforter, and pulls it over both of them.

"Feeling is what you do best, Wrennie. It's your O genes that don't let you believe what you know." He taps his finger to the tip of her nose. "You felt how good it was. You know how it's always good for us..."

"But they did write four chapters in the book about it." She knows she sounds whiny, but she does want to be reassured.

"They did." He laughs softly. "It just feels weird to tell you you did a good job, and that I'm satisfied." He looks at her from the corner of his eye, cheeky glimmer in the blue irises.

"I did do a good job!" She tentatively pokes him with her finger under his ribs. He croaks and moves closer to her, locking her hand between their bodies. "And you were satisfied. Medically speaking… But..."

"That was the best sex of my life," he suddenly deadpans, and she closes her mouth sharply. She's looking at him, he's smiling blissfully. "And now you're thinking that it wasn't that great for me before then, aren't you?"

She has to admit that it was indeed her first thought.

"See? Reassurance never works." He leans in and pecks her lips. "And it was the best sex in my life. They all are. The latest one is always smashing. Because men, and Alphas especially, don't really catalogue it. It's sort of one big..."

"Big what?" Funnily enough, she's starting to feel bored with this pillow talk. It must be the heat rising again.

"Feeling, Wren. It's a feeling." He's joking, making a funny sad face. "We do have them."

Wren giggles and pressed her nose into his shoulder.

"And what is this big feeling?" she asks, and then carefully moves her leg up, bending it, rubbing her inner thigh to his hip. Because of this light amused atmosphere in the room, she's being daring.

"That it's ace how fucking good our shag is. And are you hinting on something, love?" he rumbles in a fake womaniser tone, and Wren giggles again.

"I can't be hinting on anything. I'm an Omega, we don't make the first step." She isn't. It's really just a small gesture. But she's very proud of it.

"Cheeky, cheeky, disobedient Omega," he murmurs, sounding very pleased, and the muscles inside her clench from how sexy his voice is.

He rolls her under him again, and his bright eyes are right in front of her.

"But seriously, that was good." He gives her an earnest look. "You're really good for me. With you, I still remember who I am."

That's a slip. He's warm and comfortable under the comforter, and he's just had a very big orgasm, and he's so relaxed that he's just... slipped. And not even because of her O genes, and all those fluids they've exchanged, but because she loves him, and knows him so well, she knows that was a big slip just now. And even him kissing her, down her neck and onto the collarbones, isn't distracting enough for her to ignore it.

"And who are you?" she asks softly, hoping that he would answer, that he would let her in, that he would trust her.

He pauses, his lips hovering over her sternum, and then he exhales, his warm breath brushing at the insides of her tits.

"I'm not just just an Alpha..."

He isn't. And it's a fucking revelation - her ears are ringing from it - that he's scared to lose himself in it too. Because that is what they should be writing in those books, and not some bloody daft four chapters on reassuring your Omega.

Wren cups his jaw and gently lifts his face, making him look into her eyes.

"You are not. You are John. And I love John."

He smiles to her, and then he presses his forehead to her stomach, and exhales again, wet hot breath caressing her skin.

"It's so fucking scary sometimes..." he whispers almost inaudibly, and she tenderly strokes his head.

"What is?" She's whispering as well.

"How much power you have over me. You can't even imagine… They always talk about it like it's a one way link, but it isn't. They should write a book on caring for your Alpha instead." His tone is now sardonic. She knows he's hiding behind it, just as he's hiding his face. She runs her fingers through his hair.

"Even if we do, we are too confused and too scared to use it. So you're safe." She's keeping up with his fake light tone, but they both know how fucking important what they are saying is.

He's quiet for a bit, and then he exhales again.

"You aren't… Confused or scared… You can arse me up, if you ever want to… We will mate, and I'll have no power left. The fuck, I don't have any anyroad..."

"You are safe with me."

"Am I?" He finally lifts his burning, dark blue eyes, and she smiled to him and nods.

"You are. Because I love John. And I would never hurt him."

 _ **To be continued...**_

* * *

 **Please, have a look at my blog: _kolmakov dot ca_ , where you can find my links to other media, including AO3, JukePop, and DeviantArt. Cheers! (And if you like this version of John, I suggest _Dr T Series_ on the blog. Dr John Crispin Thorington is such an Alpha ;))**


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